My Lost Toddlerhood

This article explores one of the earliest short stories I ever wrote as a child. I can now see themes and patterns that would later recur in my novels. These patterns would indicate something is very wrong with my life. This story is about Frankenstein's monster and a haunted house. It was written on 20 Sept 1975. I was ten years old and at school. Being only 200 hundred words, will only take a moment. My illustrations for the Haunted House showing the monster of Frankenstein , a coffin and dead spiders. The Haunted House – The Story I Wrote as a Child Once upon a time there was a girl called Claire Jones . She ran away from her stepmother and father. They treated her badly. She saw a house and heard footsteps. Suddenly Claire saw a big shadow on the outside wall of the house. She turned and saw Frankenstein (meaning the monster). He said, ‘Come here my child’. He picked her up and gave her sleeping pills and then she fell asleep. Then Frankenstein put her in a cold room and lo...

This article is about my novel called The Lessons . Strictly speaking, it is not a novel at all, but something far more sinister. The dictionary lacks a word for what The Lessons actually is, but has provided a two-way mirror that hides a life behind my own reflection.   How The Lessons Began in My Teenage Years At the age of 19, I made the momentous decision to being this novel – on April 23 1985, to be precise. I know this because I kept a diary between 1977 and 1988. As soon as I began, an illness cut me down for a week. I thought nothing of it, determined I was going to begin this novel as soon as I felt better. Little did I realise how this novel would affect my life. Me during one of my writing episodes. A fantasy world burned me up inside. The Hidden Story Beneath The Lessons I kept my novel secret from family and friends. I feverishly read books on how-to write novels, sitting in my flat for hours on end, eking out a few sentences. During episodes, ...

In this article, I will explain a series of intense doll‑playing episodes from October 1978, recorded in my teenage diaries. My doll playing habits differed to other girls, no pram, no swaddling nor dressing up. Just bizarre storylines and bipolar characters. Only decades later did I understand my traumatised toddlerhood drove these stories. My Strange Doll Pantomimes of 1978 Between 1978 and early 1981, I used to create stories with toys. My storylines were odd in that the star, a blonde doll did nothing but lie inert as t he other toys had active parts and chaotic behaviour. I now realize I had projected my younger self onto this doll. My conscious awareness was oblivious to the fact that an uncle had lived in the cottage with me throughout 1968 and that he brutalized me when I was 3. The reason for her inert state was that she was in fact unconscious. How I came to unearth this truth is covered in a separate article. Sue, of my doll pantomimes did nothing but lay unconscious in...

This article gives an overview of the doll pantomimes I created between 1978 and 1981. While a previous article explores one episode of my odd doll playing , this one looks at the broader pattern and the triggers I later uncovered through my diaries. Overview of my Strange Doll Pantomimes (1978–1981) Between the 1978 and 1981, I used to make up doll pantomimes. The stories behind them were odd due to the role I gave the star, a large doll with blonde hair. She did nothing but lay inert as the other toys took active parts with bipolar behaviour. I didn’t understand why she would lie like that, but almost four decades later, I would come to learn that trauma marked my toddlerhood by a half‑uncle who lived with us in 1968. I was three. Unconscious doll in my pantos Early 1978: The First Triggers Waxworks, first aid dummies and other such effigies would leave me depressed and unnerved for no apparent reason. I now know I had dissociated the abused toddler within me onto other objects, ...

Between 31 March 1978 and 25 January 1981, I created what I called “doll pantomimes.” I recorded them in my diaries, which I had begun in Christmas 1976 and continued until July 1988. Only in adulthood did I understand that these pantomimes were expressing my difficult and disturbed toddlerhood. The Cast of My Doll Stories The cast of my stories included a large doll with blue eyes and curly flaxen hair; a panda called Collywobbles, who was chatty and popular; Tatty Teddy Bear who was likeable and easy-going; Delia (also known as Big D) who was scheming and bossy; Cindy who was high-maintenance and fashionable and finally Humpty who was oafish and silly. (Other toys took part in minor roles). Reconstruction of my doll-playing. Sue is in fact comatose after being suffocated. Sue: The Unconscious Centre of the Story There would be no pantomime without Sue (the blonde doll). She was the star, but she had no lines. All she did was lay supine unconscious in the background as the other to...

One cloudy day, I went to the village carnival with two school friends and I encountered my unconscious three-year-old self in the form of a first aid dummy in a tent. Encounter at the Village Carnival Of course, I didn’t realise this at the time. It was just a dummy lying on a table. A cheerful paramedic presided, urging us to have a go and learn how to perform the ‘kiss of life.’ All I can say is that the sight of that ashen, bald thing lying there ruined my day. Strong feelings of sex, possession and death swept over me but such words were not at my disposal at the time. The sight of that doll simply unnerved me. Dummies would spur intrusive thoughts (Necessary Evil Wiki Commons) My Friends’ Reactions vs My Own My two friends simply had a laugh as they had a go. I watched, squirming inside as one of them pressed her lips against that lifeless thing and the doll’s chest lurched upwards and make that spooky hush sound as the air escaped ‘it’. Her saliva dribbled over the doll’s ...

My diary doesn’t report when I started my first ever period, but it does report when I started my second. This is because the pain was horrendous and lasted for 6 days in a row. It started on 2 May 1977 and ended on 7 May. I was 11. I had yet to learn these pains were not normal and that something in my past was causing them. Working Out When the Pain Began From these dates, I could work out roughly when I had started my first ever period, which would have been around 2 April 1977. As I recall it was a week before Easter. I lost a little blood but don’t recall much pain. I told Mum about it, worried there was something wrong with me. Mum got cagey, unsure of how to explain about the birds and the bees. I would later learn everything I needed from biology lessons and library books. My second ever period was a rude awakening! What a whopper of a pain! I remember thinking, ‘Will I have to put up with this every month until I’m about 50?’ I thought it was ‘normal.’ I would suffer agoniz...

This excerpt shows how a fictional scene in one of my novels, mirrors a real event my brain had hidden from me. This reflective memoir of uncovering long‑buried childhood trauma, illustrates the moment the horrific memory surfaced. Understanding Dissociation Through Fiction I am now at my final novel, Nadia . I pause on spotting a broken bottle in a key scene. I continue gleaning, expecting to find further clues to the day my twin Eve had cut her face. Instead I find a character I had based upon my uncle. He is a narcissistic doctor that runs a care-home where Nancy, the main character used to work. This excerpt shows how my fictional scene mirrors the real event my mind had hidden from me. In the key scene, the creepy doctor's voice enters Nancy's head as she tries to save the life of a choking occupant of the limo by puncturing a hole in his windpipe. The Moment the Memory Broke Through I wonder why I had put Uncle Dan there. He wasn’t present when Eve's accident occurre...

A near‑death experience in toddlerhood has left deep emotional and psychological scars. Only decades later would I piece the clues of my fractured life. Until then, I have yet to uncover something truly terrible about my past. The Return to the Cottage At the age of 4, my twin and I squabbled over orange juice and I threw a glass bottle at her. On seeing blood coating the lower part of her face, I had dashed out of the back door in terror. Some hours later, I would return to find her unconscious on Mum’s lap, her face linen-white and a black scar tracking her hairline. The Comatose State The resultant concoction of emotions had overwhelmed me. My shame for starters was horrendous. But I had also seen a man’s face rise in my chest. The image was as clear as a photograph and I was later to learn that I had experienced a somatic memory. This means a body part has release the memory rather than the brain alone. My somatic memory of a man's face in my chest Seeing my Comatose Self W...

I am about to find out the truth about my life. A childhood accident involving my identical twin would form the portal to a horrific memory. It would point me to an emotional fractures and and a deeper, unspoken trauma. The Memory That Rose From the Sea I am sitting on the quayside badly shaken after believing I had lost my children to to sea. This would trigger an old, equally-traumatic memory of when I had been 4. My twin had injured herself after a squabble and I had darted through the back door on seeing blood on her face. Eve’s accident is nothing new, for it was an old story that my family seldom talks of now. What shocked me was how the mind can play tricks, hiding the trauma sensation and the horrific detail. The Patterns in My Novels Worse still, I noticed patterns within my novels that I had feverishly been writing for decades. I never noticed them before: broken glass, blood, disfigured faces and characters running north to a hideout. They were everywhere. Climactic sce...

A look at the beliefs that shaped my identity before discovering the truth about my childhood and the memories buried beneath it. The following tells the story of how I recalled the abuse. It begins here, with 'Part 1'. The Identity I Built Over a Lifetime I grew up in a troubled and chaotic household with a mentally ill parent, five siblings and little money coming in. I suffered intrusive thoughts and a terrible guilt sensation which I explained to witnessing Dad’s psychotic episodes and believing I took after him. I filled my days with creative pursuits, as testified by my diaries: writing children's mysteries, oil painting, toy-making, a weather project and more. I reasoned I was running away from being me. I always wanted to be someone else because I feared I would end up mentally ill and a negative role model. Children's stories I wrote at the age of 11 to 14 I reasoned my troubled thoughts were typical of the human race. People have quirks, obsessions, secret ...

On 3 August 1981, I went on a mystery trip with my sisters and brother-in-law. What I didn’t know was that the destination was Portmeirion, in North Wales, the location of where the 70s TV series, The Prisoner, starring Patrick McGoohan was filmed. What no one knew was that I was afflicted with private terror of this ‘thing’ that used to make an appearance in the show. First, a brief overview of what T he Prisoner was about. Portmeiriron, Wales (Tom Parnell Wikimedia Commons) The Prisoner Plot Patrick McGoohan is a secret agent who is abducted from his London apartment to find himself in a sinister seaside village where he is held captive. People from all walks of life appear resigned to living there, allowing a controlling regime to dictate their lives.   Residents are known only by numbers; McGoohan is Number Six. Number Six doesn’t know who is an inmate or a guard and therefore can trust no one. ‘Number Two’ (who takes on various identities) heavily monitors Number Six and Num...