MEMORY LANE

I walked first in sun…but by the end of the walk, the grey clouds had amassed and blown in as though heading purposefully to me and brought with them sheets of horizontal rain. I am snug, warm and dry now back inside the house, except I am not. I am not the dry lady in the centrally heated house…I am the little vulnerable girl made of paper, stood outside still, feeling the strength of the heavy clouds pressing down on her.

I am the girl from the past. Summer is a stranger to me….I am the girl who had the bad life and wants it to end right now. Suicidal ideation weather station. It must have blew it with the rain.

Something little became something big.

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The wind brew in a particular way. I became the little girl (me) walking through the alleyway to town. Wall to my left. Wall to my right. Posh buildings in view on the other side of the wall belonging to posh lawyers who worked to provide services for posh people to consume property and sue people and divorce a partner they once loved and now despise. I clutch a warm hand tightly as though my life depends on it. The hand belongs to my mother. She is my ‘safe’ person…except she isn’t safe…and I don’t in actual fact know what ‘safe’ is, but there is no-one else, so I continue to keep hold of her.

The autumn leaves are wet and stick to my wellington boots. My coat is red. I am little red riding hood in that coat. I feel excited and have nervous butterflies a fluttering inside my very flat malnourished tummy…. That’s what you get when your mum has an undiagnosed eating disorder. You get one too.

We are walking somewhere…or is it an alleyway to nowhere? The weather then is the same as the weather that day…so I remember it. I glance sidewards at the red berries on the bushes during my dog walk. I remember the little girl view of those same type of berries in that alleyway.

I don’t know where the memory goes from there….maybe nowhere except MEMORY LANE.

I walk down memory lane as that girl I once was everyday.

I swish in the leaves as child me once did. My chubby fingers reach out to grab a cluster of berries to squish in my hand. My mum tells me they’re dangerous and I shouldn’t put them in my mouth because I’ll be poisoned, but still I reach out…that’s what children do. Children push boundaries and adults set them. But what if your boundary setters (your parents) have boundaries that are wrong? askew? in the wrong place? inappropriate? unfair? immoral? What if your parents abuse you?… psychologically, emotionally, physically and sexually?

My memory lane is a sad place. But still it’s where my true soul lies, or so I think.

Is my accurate soul the one who is further on in their healing and writing a blog called summer starts to shine? or is my true soul the queen bee who was singing the body electric all those months ago? in perpetual suicidal crisis, wanting to die, broken, fractured, splintered, living as different personalities?

This is how my blogging on WP started. I sang the body electric. I lived in the cage, and through a spiritual awakening escaped. I look at my previous blog design now and it is visible how I have moved on. From dark to light. From a feeling of being trapped, to relative freedom.

But have I really moved on? Today I doubt that. Today I am having a body electric day, not a summer starts to shine day. I’m back in the cage. Memory lane defeated me, yet again.

summerSHINES©

“I SING THE BODY ELECTRIC, WHILE MARY PRAYS THE ROSARY FOR MY BROKEN MIND”. Lana Del Rey.

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14 thoughts on “MEMORY LANE

  1. Summer this is exquisite it deeply truly is. You know what i believe you are dark and light..the deep spirit in you shines throughbyour power to give expression to true deep pain and insights..you are both and but the healed Summer the whole Summet is birthed with each emotional trurh you own and convey. This moved me SO deeply..Hugs to you darlin❤💙

  2. …and so the accurate response needs to be not: “Why do I feel this way?”… but rather “How could I not feel this way?” Be kind to yourself Summer!

  3. That is exactly how it was. I thought she was safe, but she wasn’t at all. “Safer” is maybe accurate, but the baseline of what safe was, was very un-safe :(

  4. As I read each word, what stuck in the back of my mind was the thought that you held onto your mother’s hand for dear life… your safe place that was not safe at all. If abuse becomes our safe place, where is there to go? No wonder you struggle so!

  5. I can relate to this so so so much. It’s very difficult growing up with a parent who is emotionally or verbally abusive – no one can see the abuse because it’s intangible. I experienced this firsthand. Much love for you!

  6. Summer shines everyday, there is no other Summer, you are free, you have your light freedom and you need to enjoy it, even when it rains, the Summer you are now is always there, shinning bright ! As you posted freedom is a state of mind,, you are the happy lady in your nice warm home, hugs
    Brooke <3

  7. This is beautifully written, I walked down memory lane with you, held your mothers hand and saw those berries we wanted to eat! Sending you as much uplifting love and encouragement as is humanly possible today lovely. Be good to yourself xxx

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