Part 7: Black Hole in the Dark — The Memory That Exposed a Hidden Truth

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A haunting childhood memory has exposed dissociation in my toddlerhood, fear and the impact of trauma. An early memory is about to open out to me and my life would suddenly make sense.

Reading My Novels as Evidence

I have been scouring my psychological thrillers for clues about the day my twin had cut her face. It appeared the trauma stored in my subconscious at the age of 4 had seeped into key scenes of my stories. I am horrified and fascinated at what has happened to me.

I am no longer reading my novels as fiction, but as documents that hold clues to an early childhood trauma.

Obsessive novel writing recorded on 27 September 1987 diary
Diary entry taken from my book Mirror Image Shattered showing my obsessive novel writing. I never got the see my parents that day, for writing a scene.

The image shows my diary entry of 27 September 1987. My novel writing has become obsessive. I had written:

"Spent all day doing nothing but typing pages, re-typing and typing again. There were 12 I had to copy, not counting the mistakes I had to correct and even to write. I had to lie to Mark (my then husband) to get here to do this. I told him I'd be tidying my flat, which I did. At the end of the day, Mark cried thinking there was something wrong."

I would continue to work on my novel throughout the day and not see anyone. In future years, I would write my other novels with the same fervour. Something was obviously wrong, for I was tapping into subconscious memories during the writing, only the scenes were dressed up as fiction and I didn't realise.

Nadia — The Novel That Broke the Pattern

I am reading my final novel, Nadia, written a few years ago. A scene brings confusion. In the story, 2 protagonists share the backseat of a limo during a crash. One of them sustains a throat injury that causes him to choke. The other uses a broken bottle to puncture his windpipe in order to force air into his lungs. I naturally pause due to finding a broken bottle in the scene. I had thrown a bottle at Eve on the day of her accident.

I examine the scene closely, looking for further clues about the day of Eve’s accident.

The woman who performs the throat puncture relives unsettling memories of the care-home she used to work. In her mind, a creepy doctor with a moustache breathes innuendo into her ear. The woman, Nancy, tries to shake the horrible memory away but his vile innuendo keeps returning.

The Missing Piece of the Jigsaw

Instantly, I know the doctor I had written about was strongly based upon my uncle, Mum’s half-brother Dan. I am confused. Why have I put Uncle Dan there? He was not present when Eve cut her face.

Nancy's horrid flashback unfurls in the scene and I grow more unsettled. I recall occasional references to Uncle Dan staying with our family in 1968. I thought nothing of this, as I would have been only 3 and assumed he had little to do with me. Dad occasionally related of Uncle Dan’s escapades, travelling the world and working for the police. He had little to do with us.

Or so I had thought.

I read on, increasingly disturbed at the next part, which I had written in the name of 'dark fiction'. Sex references. Plenty of them. But, so what? In the Kindle age is nothing unusual. I believed I was simply putting myself ‘out there’.

What I hadn’t noticed was the frequency of sex abuse and smothering within my novels. It was all over the place. I hadn’t notice because I was too focused upon looking for broken glass and facial injuries – things to do with Eve’s accident.

The next part is an abridged excerpt from my book Mirror Image Shattered.

“My final novel, Nadia, describes Nancy's flashbacks as she tries to save a life in the crashed limo. Her former boss, a consultant I had based on Uncle Dan had taken a shine to this young, naïve trainee. But Consultant Uncle-Dan would take liberties in running a finger over Nancy's body to illustrate incisions sites of the body.

My subconscious wanted to push things further with his inappropriate behaviour, but I couldn’t bear the thought. Despite this, Consultant Uncle Dan’s slithery voice would enter Nancy's head as she blows into the empty pen casing on following instructions on how to save a life. It seemed I couldn’t avoid his grubby innuendo in the scene, deleting his words and reinstating them several times.”

The Memory That Broke Through

The next scene of my novel would cause the unearthing of a memory I had buried for almost 50 years.

My life is about to fall apart.

Part 8: Trigger
Or go back to part 6

Home About this blog and popular posts.
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Start here How I learned the truth about my past in 10 parts
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Intro

Welcome. I’m Madeleine Watson, a writer, artist, diarist and researcher. At the age of 51, I discovered a strange man had lived in my toddlerhood home. He stole my virginity before I had awoken to the world. The year was 1968.

The purpose of this blog is to shed light upon something humanity cannot normally see: a stolen toddlerhood. This blog documents what my life has been like.

My work spans childhood trauma, PTSD, split identity, and twinhood via hard research drawn from decades of personal documentation.

If you’re new here, you can begin with the Start here page, which introduces the prologue leading to the 10‑part series ending with the moment I learned the truth about my toddlerhood. Or you can buy my books .

Thank you for reading.

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