Saturday, 10 March 2012

Letting it go....or maybe not

I'm awake early this morning (early for me - I went to be just after 3am). It's 9:30 and I woke up a little over a half hour ago. If you've read my blog (or know me at all) you've heard me talk about when I was about 4 or 5 and having to stay with my Aunt in Toronto at her house over two separate summers. If you haven't, let's just say it wasn't the best time of my life to be sure.

I had a dream last night that for whatever reason Alan (the hubby) was dropping me off at this house for a stay. I didn't know whose house it was - and the exterior was different from the interior. I was not happy about having to stay there, but I remember as Alan and I were saying goodbye he said to me "It's only for a couple months, remember that". I just remember feeling a sense of impending doom as I grabbed my bag out of the back of the car. There was an elderly balding gentleman at the gate who was about to get on a PA and announce my arrival for this garden party that was going on in the back yard. I told him that wasn't required or necessary and I'd rather he didn't and that I was expected. And I was not a guest of the garden party although I was expected. I recall he nodded in understanding and went about his business.

Once I hit the interior (although different) I knew exactly whose house it was that I was entering and I wanted desperately to run in the opposite direction. I remember it was a very large (almost mansion like) from the outside although like I said the interior of the house did not match the exterior of the house, both in my dream and in a psychological sense in the reality of my situation when I was young. It was a lovely house on the outside, the inside...and the goings on for me personally, was a different ball of wax all together. I walked my way in the front door and began walking through the house. The farther I got into the house, and the more stairs I climbed to get up to my room, the sadder I became. I remember I walked past this girl's bedroom, she was standing there - I want to say she was packing a suitcase. She looked out at me  with the saddest expression on her face, I'm not sure if she was sad she was leaving or if it was a look of sympathy to me. I remember that there was a Duran song playing from a radio in her room which I knew what it was at the time...but retrospect, for the life of me...I can't recall what it was. I want to say it was "Other People's Lives" but I'm not convinced of that fact, it was something off the new album...but now that I'm awake, I'm really not certain which one it was. At the time though, I definitively knew which song it was. In fact I recall thinking at the time "I should ask her which Toronto radio station that is...if Toronto radio is playing Duran regularly then maybe I can actually make it through this next few months of hell away from Alan". But I never did turn around and ask her what radio station it was, and I can't now recall definitively which Duran song it was that was playing. Not that it really matters, although it would have been nice to recall.

I remember I kept walking up and up and up. At one point I was walking up a metal set of stairs that were grated and painted green that jutted out of the walls in a spiral nature. I guess if I were to go all Freudian on myself I'd say the spiral stairs represented that I felt that when I think of staying at my Aunt's I felt like I was sequestered away and imagine myself in a castle tower waiting for my prince to come and rescue me. I remember I got up to my room and peered out the window, in the backyard, was the aforementioned garden party going on. I looked around for my Aunt, could not see her. I didn't want to see the man she was married to at the time (I refuse to refer to him as my "Uncle", he was a lecherous man who was a short, evil, British alcoholic troll). I remember I began to shake and slam my fists on the lead trimmed glass, screaming "Help me! Get me out of here". But it was like no one could hear me, like a scene out of a movie where someone pounds on the glass and no one hears a thing.. No one looked up, or even noticed I was there. I began to cry, and when I went to wipe my tears away I had blood on my fingers. (How's THAT for mellow dramatic?).

I think it's around there that I woke up, and I've been awake ever since. I was sad and angry when I woke up. Sad because I'd gone there, and angry with myself and once more angry with my Aunt and that little lecherous troll of a man she was married to at the time. I honestly thought after finding the house and seeing the house, and recognizing that it was just a house...nothing more (and a nice looking house at that), that I could put this whole thing behind me and put it all to bed. Clearly my subconscious isn't ready to do that just quite yet, and so...I trudge on in the hopes that someday...I can let it all go.

One Last Glimpse,



  1. I don't mean to be an asshole but I think this effected you more than you know. Maybe write your aunt a letter with what you remember and vent in it. You don't have to send it to her but maybe you want to. Either way, this won't go away on it's own

    1. I could never think you an asshole. xoxo And I know it's effected me profoundly. It's no different than the other situation that's going on with Dad. I'm devastated by BOTH situations. One I was powerless to do ANYTHING about (I was only a child after all), and the other...even if I DO say something about it, I'm pretty damn sure it's not going to change a fuckin thing. In any event... you're right. :) xo