My Lost Toddlerhood

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...

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...

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. Diary entry 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 ...

Thirty‑one years after painting a derelict barn, I return to the site and finally understand the symbolism behind my artwork. This article explores trauma, memory, and the hidden messages in my art. My Journey to the Barn in 2018 The secret messages of my landscape settings become clear to me 32 years after I uncover horrific truths about my toddlerhood . In the summer of 1985, I would place a dead tree near the mouth of a railway tunnel. I would then produce alfresco oil paintings there for my degree show. A year later, I would apply the same treatment to a derelict barn , placing a large plank over the doorway. I would then produce alfresco oil paintings of the barn. My paintings of the barn with plank completed summer 1986 During both times, I would suffer bouts of depression and intrusive thoughts as a man called Aidan haunted my brain. I believed he was a fictional character or a childhood familiar as I knew no one of that description. I would later learn that a half-uncle had...

In my early twenties, I painted two landscapes — a railway tunnel and a derelict barn. Decades later, after recovering the truth about my toddlerhood, I realised these paintings contained secret messages from my subconscious.” In the summer of 1985, I produced alfresco oil paintings of a railway tunnel for my degree year at City University. In the summer of 1986, I produced on site oil paintings of a tumbledown barn in a barley field. The Clues in My Paintings That Exposed My Buried Trauma In both instances, I felt something was missing. In the case of the railway tunnel, I placed a dead tree over a gate located at the tunnel mouth. In the case of the tumbledown barn, I placed a plank over the doorway. I experienced a ‘click’ in my head after adding these elements. During both summers, I suffered terrible depression, intrusive thoughts and disturbed nights. I was also working on a novel, The Lessons (originally titled The Upstairs Room ). A burning fantasy world consumed my days f...

It is 15 July 1986 and I am 21. I have just graduated from City University with a degree in Fine Art with Hons. I had almost failed due to the lowest dissertation mark of my group. However, the strength of my paintings had earned me an upper-second. My degree show had comprised studio pieces taken from alfresco oil paintings of a bridge, gate and dead tree scene just outside our village.   Still, I am pleased about my degree result. What My 1986 Paintings Revealed About My Past I am now living back home, am on the dole with no boyfriend. I am also struggling with my novel The Lessons , which I had been working on since 23 April 1985. With nothing else to focus my mind on, I decide to have a go at another stint of alfresco oil paintings like last summer. I focus my mind upon the Stables Farm at the bottom of our road. Dad knows the owners and had asked permission for us to trek over the fields there. The Derelict Building That Held My Buried Childhood Trauma Abridged excerpts fr...

In the summer of 1985, I spent weeks painting a railway tunnel without understanding why the site unsettled me.  This is a true story about secret messages in my landscape paintings . The journey is dark, but the outcome is unexpected and heartening. Introduction: The Summer That Would Haunt Me It is late August 1985. I’m 20 and about to begin my third and final year at University. The summer holidays are coming to a close and I have no idea what I’m going to paint for my Fine Art degree show. I’m beginning to feel tetchy. Dad tells me of a railway tunnel where he takes the dog for a walk. It might be a good spot for alfresco paintings. On 23 August 1985, I accompany him to encounter an old railway bridge with a cattle gate. It seems ok, but something is missing. I mention this to Dad, but he doesn’t see what I mean. He likes the site and believes it has everything needed for good landscape painting. The Railway Tunnel: A Place That Felt Wrong Dissatisfied, I accompany Dad to a...