I didn’t know it then, but it was too late – I had internalised my father, introjected him, buried him deep in my unconscious. No matter how far I ran, I carried him with me wherever I went. I was pursued by an infernal, relentless chorus of furies, all with his voice – shrieking that I was worthless, shameful, a failure. During my first term at university, that first cold winter, the voices got so bad, so paralysing, they controlled me. Immobilised by fear, I was unable to go out, socialise or make any friends.
