On the 12th July 2010, I took part in an autobiographical writing course in London. It was only a week but it was one of the best weeks of my life. It was the first time I openly shared and felt I could share my past without any judgement amongst people I had never met before. They were all incredibly supportive.
On day 2 of the course, we began ‘flow’ writing. An activity that encourages writers to put pen to paper without thinking about what they are writing and to just let it all flow out. Armed with the subject: LIFT, I put my pen to paper. This was the result.
Lift me up until you can’t stop, as high as a kite, away from the world. Away from the nonsense, the death and the stupidity. Away from life and the tortures of my time here. Away from expectations and trials and judgement. Lift me up away from you, your control and hate for me, from your anger and rage. You haunt me in my sleep and in my dreams. In the morning and into the night. Lift me up away from all the pain and worry and fear for you. Take me away from your war with me. End this fight. End my agony; end it now. Go on with your life away from me, so I can go on in peace without your power or you pulling me back. I want to move forward, move on in my life, away from you and your cruelty and punishment, your mind games and control. Your insults and your demons.
There was no intention for it to make sense. But to me, reading it back, it makes perfect sense. My father dominated my mind. Even in that sanctuary, his control and power was apparent. He haunted me wherever I was, and continues to haunt my mind now.