The Hallway

Its the first thing I remembered.  A hallway with closet doors/pantry style lining the sides.  Two bedrooms at the end a bathroom in the middle and another bedroom behind me.

I hated walking that hallway.  I was always dressed in some cute little princess pajama dress or outfit.  I had medium length soft blonde hair, my big blue eyes always felt sullen.  I don't remember every being happy walking down that hallway.

My father would take my hand and lead me to the bedroom where he would tuck me in for the night.  I would imagine the different cupboard doors as magical doors that would lead out of the hallway to far off places.

Places that I could escape to.  In my mind I never made it to the bedroom.  Most of the time the walk down the hall was the beginning of the disassociation I would experience in order to guard my heart and spirit from what was sure to follow.

My eyes would be shut tight so I couldn't see his face.  My jaw clenched tightly as I lay rigid in the bed, terrified, ashamed, disgusted.  He would force his hands between my legs and they were rough.  The hands of a carpenter.  Hands that didn't care or concern themselves with the innocence they were violating.

I would watch from above, hovering over the scene as if free from it entirely.  Floating above in the ceiling and clinging to the warmth that I gravitated toward.  That warmth which I have come to know as God - him allowing me to seek refuge in his arms as the earthly father that had been entrusted with offered his own perverse form of comfort.

I don't know how many times this happened.  I don't remember much between the ages of 2-4 when I feel like this earliest memory is from...my entire life through age 7 is a bit foggy in terms of all the stressful situations I encountered.  Most of the memories I have locked away, until now.   Until now where I am taking that step of desperate courage - to allow myself to relive the horror and process the events of my childhood.

This is where the story starts.  I wish it was all there was to say.  But there is more.

Alone in the Dark

The downward spiral seems inevitable.  I find myself sinking further into a dark and scary place.  I feel unglued.  Unhinged.

The less I fight, the more I feel engulfed by my pain.  By my fear.  How does one tell the story of their own destruction?

I was 2 years old.  I was too young to remember.  But I remember now.  I remember the yelling.  The violence.  I remember being afraid.

I remember my earliest thoughts of not wanting to exist.  I wanted it all to end.  I just couldn't understand the reason I was given life - a life filled with death.

From the moment I could hold my breath I began to hold it.  I began to stop breathing - as if my life would leave me and I'd instantly be transported somewhere else.  Detached from myself - there I was suspended in time and reality.  

In those moments - on the edge of the chasm of emptiness - I'd feel free.  Free to dance.  Free to smile.  Free to exist.

I don't like that place anymore.  Its cold and dark, empty and alone.  I don't like feeling like I have to go there to escape the fear... the fear that grips me when I exhale.