Moving day 1975
Today I woke in a dead fog. I am never sure what to expect. Day to day I never know. Since I moved home the alters have become more active. Perhaps that is the security this house represents. ..the house we fled to from my schizophrenic father. I was only 4. The summer before my fifth birthday and the start of kindergarten. I can remember fragments of that day and some about the original family home. Much else is seemingly gone. But that day is clear in my mind. The curtains seemed to be billowing in the front window. People were pulling in our driveway. Not many but enough to grab what could be. My dad was at a soccer tournament. Away. Little did I know at that age that my mother had planned to escape for a year. Setting up a safe place with beds and basics. 4 Children, including me. We were 4, 9, 14 and 15. And craziness had grown in our lives. Mom couldn't make dad get help and in those days a beating is the only thanks she got. Even her family treated her as though she "...