His fingers make a gun shape, pointed at my forehead

“I will live inside you, know each thought before you think it,” at gunpoint he says

The air full of singed rissoles, dinner I would be unable to eat

Unnoticed, my father’s mind on burnt meat

“Bang,” His pointy finger hits my forehead, hard, right in the middle

I fear-squirm between his knees, I fit I am that little

“That’s me going into you”

I tremble-jumped like a shot snake,

bits splattered as far as ever you could see

A childhood on my bedroom walls

My father inside me

A child, I did not understand that he meant forever

“You won’t ever get away” 

I know this is not a game, because my father does not play

The warm, moist finger-gun pushes hard into my ear

The left one, hair flicked aside so I won’t mishear

His low voice – the one that matters

I had thought I understood fear

I knew nothing

Age 10, my eyes leaked it,

my father a heavy ache in my head,

heavier than his body

He entered my head, and he never withdrew

He wriggles, the creak of the chair

I freeze, cold sweat under long dark hair

“Think of me as God”

Conditioned to obedience, I nod

Then look up into God’s face, fury-red

God knows what I’m thinking,

my teacher said

And, in snow and ice Santa watches kids

Dad, God, Santa twined together in my mind,

wrapped in fear

Six ears which

knew if I’d thought bad thoughts or good

So, I’d better not frown

I taught myself not to,

an imaginary eraser run across my face,

until there was no expression

I laughed when told, smiled when forced

I never cried

Each feeling punched

into dusty corners of my mind,

out of sight

curled quiet they knew not to get caught

Decades later no one ever knew what I really felt,

not even me

“Lack of affect,” psychiatrists later called it

“Survival,” I called it

I close my eyes, he makes me open them

“Look me in the eye,” he pokes my ear again

His own eyes shielded by glass 

“They’re windows to your mind,” he laughs

He pushes my chin up, stares through my eyes

I do not know that these are lies

His words for me a magic spell

No one noticed when I stopped making eye contact

He could read me like a book

just by looking into my eyes

Maybe everyone could

“You’re so antisocial,” friends later commented

The slam of plates onto the table

My mother angry – It’s my job, but tonight I’m unable

His fingers dig into my thigh,

my blue check school dress pushed too high

On the desk pencil case open, homework undone

My body no longer curled into hidden corners,

former hiding places

My eyes an arrow to the exact paddock, room, wherever it was in the world

where I would be,

before I was even there

Because there were now two of us

looking through my eyes

“Irrational fears of being followed,” a psychologist later said

“Don’t forget that you’re mine,” the TV turns off, the tick of my clock

It is almost dinner time, after 6 o’clock

“I’ll haunt you until the day you die, you’ll see,

and when I die, watch out,” he whispers to me

“No one can escape from a ghost”

The voice started

like an echo

The tone, the words, even the accent,

perfectly his

Booming out of my head

until I couldn’t tell real from not-real

In the paddock I heard it,

in the bathroom, the kitchen, everywhere

He might be at work, I might be holding his hand

but his voice was always there

 “Psychosis,” I was later told,

the adult me full of drugs; antipsychotics which didn’t work,

because I was not psychotic, not ever

I was possessed, his possession

And decades later, I still would not ever want my dad to die

“I know what you’re thinking right now.  You’re thinking unkind thoughts about your dad”

Maybe it is a fluke, a guess.  Or maybe not and that’s why he is mad

But I am shocked, because it is true

I was not thinking kind thoughts about my dad, words I can’t undo 

I was thinking hate-filled thoughts, squashed between his knees

And he heard every single one, with ease

It is the final proof-He really can

That’s what I understand

My father knows every thought I’ve ever had

Fear reformed me,

created a blank slate

where he scrawled the thoughts he heard in my head,

my mouth repeating each after him,

never missing even one

I now knew that “I like it,” and “I am useless, I am bloody stupid”

I knew that “it hurts,” and “I don’t want to”

were fake thoughts, tricks

Not real thoughts,

because it really “doesn’t hurt” and I really “do want to”

Like a child waking from a dream,

he reminded me what was and wasn’t real and true

“Shy. Reluctant to speak,” a teacher reported

“You love me, you love your dad.  Repeat it”

I repeat it

“This never happened - we never had this talk, did we?”

Sherry spit on my face, “Agree?”

Too afraid for words, a nod of my head, keeper of his secrets

My life simple, a wind-up doll world

Robotic I did what the voice said,

even when it told me to hurt me

He never said what would happen if I didn’t 

I did not have this superpower - 

He could read my mind, but I couldn’t read his

“Too easily influenced by others.  Unwilling to think for herself,” a social worker noted,

ten years later

I do not have to kiss him, he says

The door rattles closed as he leaves the room, but not my head

So, when I am finally an adult

I am lost, like a child who has escaped a cult

Forever 10 years old, his insect in amber,

this child whose mind he manufactured

Because I do not know what thoughts are mine

My father’s voice my plumbline

Once upon a time my father pretended to shoot me, words his bullets

as I sat on my bed, homework interrupted,

my mother plate slamming in the kitchen

Such few words

that years later no one will note the importance

But can you not see?

The most important words are the quiet ones,

whispered to a child at gunpoint

So, when I complain of a voice out of sight

Please note that I am not psychotic

When you see my lips move and there is no one there

I am singing all that I never could think,

drowning out my father’s thoughts:

“You better watch out, you better not cry”

I am still afraid to cry

And, when you ask me a question, push for a decision, and I freeze

Do not get impatient

I do not know how to think, what to feel,

my confused mind

still learning to be me

When you despair of me, please don’t give up

Remember my story comes through a bullet ridden head,

and a mouth full of blood

The ultimate penetration

But don’t worry…

 “I liked it”

 “It never hurt”

“It never happened”

Explanatory Notes

This poem describes an incident which happened when I was aged 10 (in italics), and both the short- and long-term impact of it on my beliefs and behaviours.  The conversation between my father and I is word-for-word as I remember it.  The comments from mental health workers, a social worker and friends that I refer to occurred in adulthood.

I was raised in a family who believed in the paranormal, so I was convinced that he really had shot his spirit into my head.  I was terrified at the thought that he was now both inside and outside my body because it meant that I couldn’t ever escape him.  The thought of him permanently inside me was more terrifying than physical, sexual or verbal abuse. 

My psychological defence as a child  was to try not to show emotion so that no one would know what I was thinking or feeling.  This was so effective that most of the time I felt ‘blank’.  As an adult I still often don’t know what I actually feel and I forget to use facial expressions.

I believed that my father could read my mind, but I was unsure if he was the only person who had that ability, so I stopped making eye contact to make it more difficult for people to know what I was thinking.  It became a learnt behaviour which people have misinterpreted as antisocial.

I stopped trying to physically hide, reasoning that he could see through my eyes so would know where I was. 

In childhood I did not realise that it was my fear combined with a constant ‘replay’ of his thoughts that created the ‘voice’ I thought that I heard.  I would turn around to check if he was there and used to run everywhere in an attempt to outrun his voice. 

During this conversation the fact that he accurately guessed what I was thinking (that I was thinking unkind thoughts about him) convinced me that he could read my mind.  I was terrified to have any thoughts and over time ceased to know what I did and didn’t like.  He told me what I thought and often answered others on my behalf.  As an adult I am still confused about whether I enjoyed being abused and whether I wanted it. 

I became so brainwashed and controlled that I just obeyed whatever his voice said (whether or not he was physically present) – which could be anything from calling me home, telling me to self-harm, verbally abusing me, or step by step instructions during activities I did not want to be part of.  As an adult I look for cues from people to determine what decision/response is the ‘right’ one.  I am afraid of making wrong decisions.

I wasn’t physically hurt but this incident significantly impacted my life, especially my beliefs about abuse.  My internal ‘self-talk’ is heavily influenced by the words he put in my mouth - always critical.  I am still afraid to show emotion or give my opinion. 

It took me until adulthood to realise that the ‘voice’ was never real – I eventually recognised it as an internal replay of things he said to me.

 Originally written July, 2019