I left that semi-detached prison in Surrey – and I thought was free. I was wrong. 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.
