One of my earliest childhood memories is of tumbling
down the stairs that leads from the guestroom at the north of our cottage.
Dad had built the guestroom for Nan to stay, but
when he became mentally ill in 1970, he used the room for himself.
My memory of falling down the stairs has been there
throughout my life. My eyes speckle over. Floor and ceiling appear to swap
places and I fainted. I felt sick. When I come-to, I hear Dad coming through the back door.
It was a sunny day, feeling like mid-morning.
I had never questioned this memory for I had assumed
my young brain was wiring up. Having said this, there was a feeling of sickness
around the incident, of something vile. I had assumed it was to do with
Dad’s mental illness. However, Dad had entered the back door as I came round.
Dad wasn’t mentally ill at this time. I had never questioned this memory,
allowing this assumption to explain the ‘sick’ feeling.
I had been 3, so it must have been 1968 and Dad was
still at work. What had happened in the guestroom at the top of the stairs to
make me faint?
I have since discovered that my half-uncle had lived
with us throughout 1968. He slept in the guestroom. I had been oblivious to this fact assuming he visited
now and again and stopped odd nights. I was a toddler at the time.
I now know what had caused me to faint.
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| I kept meticulous records in my diaries in the late 70s and throughout the eighties. |
My Diaries
Between 1977 and 1988, I kept diaries. I also wrote
stories, novels and I completed countless oil paintings. Clues to the horrors
of my toddlerhood can be found within my creations. I hadn’t realized the clues
were there, but in October 2016, a line in one of my novels Nadia, triggered the first of horrific
memories. The events that lead to my discovery can be found in a separate
article. The hidden messages within my creations then became obvious to me.
My uncle had raped me in the guestroom (which would become Dad’s bedroom). How I know this requires a full explanation found in a separate article.
That’s what caused me to faint and fall down the
stairs when I was 3.
My diaries have revealed sinister clues regarding my
behavior towards Dad’s bedroom as I grew up. Remember, I had no conscious
awareness that I had been raped by my uncle whilst keeping these diaries. I was
recording my daily life, completely oblivious to the horrors of my toddlerhood.
The Guestroom
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| One of My Big Cat Drawings I completed in the guestroom in 1983. I was 18. |
After examining my diaries, what have they revealed?
The guestroom is located to the north of the cottage, accessed
via separate stairs to the other bedrooms, including mine. I seldom went up
there.
I have a younger sister, Mazie. She used to have copper-colored
hair, similar to mine. Throughout her kindergarten years, she had a bowl-cut,
like I used to as a toddler. My diaries reveal my subconscious confusion between Mazie and
my younger (abused) self. I was constantly protecting her, minding her and feeling
something terrible was going to happen to her. I felt guilty for some reason.
This was because she subconsciously reminded me of myself.
Mention of Dad’s Bedroom in my Diaries
On 30 Oct 1980 (I am 15 and Mazie is 6), I buy Mazie
a Dusty Bin toy for Christmas. Throughout late summer and autumn I have been making
toy dogs, pups, snails and ladybirds for her. I complete the toys on 18
December 1980. I put my toys inside the Dusty Bin and hide them under Dad’s bed (once the guestroom).
I wrote in my diary: “I lay on my bed
with lights off afterwards.” (Odd behavior. Is that really me?). These
‘gifts’ were not really meant for Mazie, but for my toddler self who’s
childhood had been destroyed in Dad’s bedroom.
My diaries reveal my constant confusion between
Mazie and my younger self.
My Children’s Story Hindbury’s Run
The story of Dad’s bedroom continues on 19 Nov 1980.
I went up there to rework an old story of mine called Hindbury’s Run. I had written this ‘children's animal story on 7 – 19 Dec
1978. (It underwent a touch-up on 20, 21 and, I think, 22 Nov 1979, and I had
read it to Mazie and my twin Eve on 28 Feb 1979). Other than that, Hindbury’s Run had barely been touched
for 2 years.
I would later discover that Hindbury’s Run is not the innocent tale I had believed it to be,
for clues to my vile toddlerhood can be found between the lines.
But that’s another story.
Strange how I would take Hindbury’s Run up to Dad’s bedroom after hardly touching it for
almost 2 years.
Physical Symptoms of PTSD
The story of Dad’s bedroom continues on 2 Jan 1981.
A day after I start my periods (I started on 1 Jan 1981) I revise for my exams
in Dad’s bedroom on 2, 3, 6, 7, 13 and 15 Jan 1981. This intensive spell of
going to Dad’s bedroom is unusual. (My 1980 diary reports only 5 occasions that
I went up there in the whole year).
So, I first go up to Dad’s bedroom on day 2 of my
periods (2 Jan 1981). I then keep going up to Dad’s room to revise. I occasionally
say I have “trouble revising”. On day
4, I develop crippling period pain that sends me to bed.
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| 4 Jan 1981: Dad's bedroom spurs bad period pains |
The image shows my diary entry 4 January 1981 when I try to revise in Dad's bedroom. My bad period pain struck. Note also an episode of playing dolls, explained in another article.
My diaries report of frequent period pains that leaves me floored and feeling like death. None of my sisters or my Mum suffered such bad period pains as I did (although my twin Eve did occasionally get them). For no apparent reason, my periods could be quite well-behaved. Why? After examining my diaries, I have discovered a connection between my nasty period pains and ‘triggers’ to my horrific toddlerhood; in this case, visiting the site of my rape. Going into Dad’s bedroom when I happen to be menstruating seems to bring on a physical manifestation of trauma.
On this occasion, my period pain was triggered by
repeatedly going up to Dad’s bedroom to revise.
I don’t go to Dad’s room again until 22 March 1980
when my twin Eve and I puff a few smokes in Dad’s room in secret. The place
probably smelled of smoke in ’68 when my uncle lived with us. Unfortunately, I
happen to be menstruating. The next day at school, I suffer crippling period
pain which creases me up. On 24 March, I wrote “I tried revising in Dad’s bedroom”. Again, I seem to have trouble
revising up there.
Playing Sardines
No going up to Dad’s bedroom again until 10 May 1981
when everyone goes out. My twin Eve, Mazie and I play Sardines, a kid’s game
where you hide in various locations. Me? I hide in Dad’s bedroom where I had
stowed Mazie’s toys a year earlier. I was acting out the toddler in me. Why? Because
that’s where my childhood had been stripped away, only I didn’t consciously
realize.
On 31 May 1981 I write in my diary: “Went in Dad’s bedroom. I couldn’t revise
in there. I felt ‘off’ later and got headache”.
In 1982, I report of going up to Dad’s room a mere 4
times in the entire year. On 14 April 1982, I relate of ‘sleep full of disturbed dreams’
after spending time revising up there.
Art Work in the Guestroom
My behavior towards Dad’s bedroom takes a sinister
turn when I hit my mid-teens.
In 1983, I spend several days over the summer
holidays doing art homework in Dad’s bedroom in preparation for my Fine Art
degree course. My art homework begins with detailed pen drawings of my camera
and barometer. On 2 Aug 1983, I’m in Dad’s room all day drawing
apples. I’m wearing a shirt I’d embroidered with insignia's bearing clues to my
vile toddlerhood (deserving a separate article). I feel sick at the thought. I
suffer a monstrous period pain afterwards.
On Aug 6 1983, I begin drawing fierce cat’s faces,
including a cat walking down a stairs and lions' heads. In time, my cat artwork would mutate
into disturbing and distorted imagery which embodies the torture I had endured
as a toddler.
Tortured Drawings
Concurrent with these initial big cat-face drawings,
I was sketching portrait doodles of a man I didn’t know. He had a fierce
glower, shaggy dark hair and broad features. The weird thing was, I never drew
the man’s face in Dad’s bedroom but elsewhere in the cottage,
such as the gardens or the living room. But I would draw the fierce cat’s faces
only in Dad’s bedroom.
I now know the man’s face and the cat’s face
represent the same subject matter.
Again, I suffered terrible period pains during this time if I
happened to be menstruating.
Nasty Portrait Paintings
I don’t go to Dad’s room again until 16 Dec 1983. I
am now in my first year of university. My portrait doodles have evolved into
paintings. These ‘face montages’ are of the man I was drawing in the summer of
1983. How horrid. My twin and I spend time in Dad’s bedroom while I’m painting
faces of a man neither of us knew. We go up to Dads room again on 18 Dec 1983 where
I paint more of these ‘face montages.’
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| 16 Dec 1983: I'm painting face montages in Dad's room |
No other visits to Dad’s bedroom are reported until 19 May 1985 when I am working on my first novel under the working title, ‘The Upstairs Room’. I abandon the title thinking it sounded familiar. It could easily pertain to Dad’s bedroom.
I would re-title my novel, The Lessons.
In fact, my serious novel writing phase began on 23 April 1985. A nasty bug stops me from doing anything for a week. This strange
sabotage is described throughout my diaries.
It seems a part of me was trying to prevent the
clues of my horrific toddlerhood from slipping out. This ‘sabotage’ is
explained in a separate article on this blog.
Once I am over this bug, I begin working intensively
on my novel, The Lessons. On 19 May 1985 my twin Eve and I go in Dad’s
bedroom where I work on my The Lessons novel. We evacuate when
we see a massive spider on the window sill. We go for a walk later.
I do not report going up in Dad’s room again until
16 March 1986 when I borrowed Dad’s big dictionary when studying words for my novel. I would continue to struggle with my novel for 30 years.
Childhood Behavior in Later Years
It seems the site of my rape at toddlerhood is
spurring odd behavior within my growing up self. I am hiding toys under Dad’s
bed which are dedicated to my toddler self whom I confuse for my younger sister,
Mazie.
I have trouble revising in Dad’s bedroom, suffering
crippling period pains, headaches and disturbed nights afterwards. I rework one
of my children's stories, Hindbury’s Run, in Dad's room which was hardly touched for 2 years and I never touch it again. This story
is about loss of innocence.
I embark upon drawing big cats’ faces in Dad’s room whilst
wearing a shirt bearing clues to my toddlerhood. I then paint face montages including the face of my rapist up
there in the December.
I seldom went in Dad’s bedroom, yet the times that I
did, I exhibited odd behavior that strongly informs upon the horrors of my
toddlerhood.
This is the story of my behavior in Dad’s bedroom – the site of where I was
raped at 3.
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