One of the mistakes I made when thinking about a link to the past as a source of my anxiety was to look for one big event. I suspected a trauma of some sort. And I should say that it is not to say something exists because I expect it too. In fact no big event can be recalled and one big event probably never happened. But what I did start to see was lots of small events of discomfort. As I recalled those more popped up and more again and with them rising anxiety to the point I had to stop. I felt I was opening a door I couldn't close which had been boarded shut a long time. So for now I will leave it alone.
With each incident there are certain factors driving the anxiety. Sometimes it's helplessness as you would expect with a child but at other times it's humiliation or a mixture of the two or neither at all. As I said I don't want to delve too deep because I feel I would regret it. But I will say there were lots of small incidents. It could have been when I was forced to karate weekly despite hating it so much I sat hunched over a toilet in a cubicle forcing fingers down my throat to be sick. I wanted out of it but was told money had been spent on kitting me out. It could have been the period being forced to church and humiliated in from of a room full of people by the minister. Or was it angrily telling my parents what happened just for them to laugh in my face.?
One incident that popped up was to do with primary school. I lost my reading book. I could find it nowhere and had to sit cross legged on the floor sharing someone else's. I used to dread it each time having to say I had no book and take the wrath of the teacher. And so she said I'd have to buy a replacement. I told my parents and they refused-- I'd lost it so it was my problem. Next time I told the teacher and she went nuts saying if I did not have a book next time I could go tell the head mistress why. At that point the only time I saw her was when she appeared to administer the strap. I told my parents again and met with their anger. I was primary 5 so probably 11 years old and felt I had nowhere to go. Then I remembered the savings jar.
It wasn't a jar but a massive bottle. Huge to me. Probably about 2 litres and filled with coppers. So in desperation I took out the £1.25 I needed for a replacement book. I hit the money inside a damp towel in my school bag used for swimming that day hoping in the morning to dump the towel in the washing basket and be off with the money to sort my problems. That morning though when I woke my mum was already in the room and shook the towel out shortly after to a shower of pennies. She went bananas. I was a thief and so on.
All of that is crystal clear in my mind right down to the price of the book. I can't remember what the book was but remember it was to do with a boar. The cover was obscured because we had to cover them with paper. I remember my year. I remember where I sat- it was an open plan building with many classes separated only by drawers. I remember the angry teacher was Miss Cruickshank. I remember the shape of the bottle. I remember everything except what happened next. I don't know the outcome. I have my suspicions but they are only that.
And so I'll leave it there. Recalling this I felt like was reliving it. I felt despair more than anything. There are many incidents like that which years later have started resurfacing. If nothing more it's made me parent in a different way. For example with the boy we got him to try many activities like football, karate, basketball and others but as soon as he said he didn't like them we stopped. For all the angst it caused me i hope that is balanced out now by saving him from the same date.
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