Shape of the Nerves

Of course I wasn’t a deviant! Right now I was struggling through being a victim. Now, don’t get me wrong. Speaking as an adult, now, I am not bitter about this. I have not thrown myself down on the floor and become a screaming, or mewling, pathetic creature of despair. I am not looking back at any of this with the idea of blaming someone for who I am… Hang on! I will just stress again I am not a deviant, I am referring to the fact that despite the incidents of our youth, I appear to have turned out fairly well, as a mature and moral adult (with some intense memories). I am, the more I come to think about it, sad. For my father, and particularly my other family members. I was never the only one who had moments like this, but I do believe all of us have came to realise it was not how things should have been.

We have, on the few occasions we have been together over the years often brought up such moments. Not to dwell on them morbidly, but to laugh a little at what sometimes went on in the household. We were not always free from blame for some of the circumstances we got into as children (more on these in a later blog), and indeed, not the ‘angels’ our mother probably had wished us to be (yes, I’m sure we drove her to despair at times), but I do swear to you, for this particular incident, injuring my younger brother with a thrown stilt, that was a pure unexpected accident, despite the fact I was currently being punished for my actions.

And that particular punishment continued. I stood in pain on the cold floor of the bathroom, pressing my toes hard into the linoleum. Cramp was now well up the back of my leg as well as the soles of my feet. I was very focused on the part of my father’s head I could see. The slightest motion of his head made me panic to think that if he thought I was moving about he would come to ensure (by way of a few further slaps and smacks) I stood stiller. But I still shook. I still trembled and panicked, and tried to be still. When you do that to your body, its sending conflicting messages through your nervous system. It creates a double rapid conversation between your muscles and your brain. “Stop!” the muscles stop. “Go!” The muscles go, “Stop!” the muscles stop. “Go!” The muscles go, “Stop!” the muscles stop. Your brain says “Go!” The muscles stop, Your brain says “Stop” the muscles go.

Confusion reigns. The same as when the computer isn’t processing as fast as you would like, you hit the enter key repeatedly. That’s right. Every stroke of the keyboard is giving it another command. No wonder they ‘freeze. Not literally of course. Not like my feet were experiencing on the cold bathroom floor late into the night… or early morning as it must now be.

(Continued tomorrow)