Digging through the anals of my mind takes a great deal of concentration and somewhat frustration....every time its always the same, happy memories, where are you?  I think my most fond memories as a child were probably playing with our huge great dane who was such a clumsy clut, but so loving and harmless that like any of us just yearned for some attention and you would have him doing any tricks you desired.  He was my horse!  Most kids got bicycles to learn to ride, pedalling and balancing, but I had man’s best friend who would let me climb on his back, wrapping my legs around his lean body trying to hold on for dear life, there were no brakes or putting feet down to stop him, that would inevitably result in me toppling over wherever we were at that moment, cement stripped driveway, chip tile verandah or with any luck on the front lawn!  But that would only be good in the rainy season cause then I would be glad to fall onto the lush green carpet.  Lo and behold if it were winter where the grass was differeing shades of brown equalled by its coarseness and abilty to graze any human skin it comes in contact with.

Then there was my imaginery friend, she went with me everywhere and always held my hand and comforted me.  She was the only other person in the world that could relate to me and we shared so much in common.  She always knew what I was thinking, but the biggest problem was, when I did something wrong and ended up in trouble she would disappear and I would have to take all the blame!

I had a few favourite ‘playgrounds’ at our house.  There was the garden, mainly the front garden as the back garden scared me.  There were old cars, some of them accident damaged parked down at the bottom of the garden and the grass was long and controlling.  I would never venture there alone, for fear of snakes and spiders and in my opinion anything creepy and bloodsucking could come out of there.  Not to mention the images created in my mind of how those cars got to be damaged and who was in them at the time, did they come out alive, was there blood everywhere, was an ambulance called to take them to the hospital.  My imagination was vivid and often became my worst enemy as I often wound up freaking myself out with the pictures in my mind.  At that time in my life I hated the sight of blood, a cold fear would come over me, making me almost weak and disorientated.  It would always take me into flight mode.

Being the youngest of seven children, and worse so a girl, my siblings were not very fond of me at all.  I was considered the typical spoilt brat that got away with too much and stole the affections of our parents majority of the time.  But who was I really?  I knew without a doubt that I was loved dearly by both my mother and my father.  I still remember clearly nights where my father would get home late when I was in bed already, but every time he would come to my bed and kiss my forehead and whisper goodnight.  Baby-doll that was my name to him.  Hearing him say it would fill me with joy and love as I was the only one he ever called that.  It made me feel very special and important.  My mother, she doted over me constantly, she always wanted everything to be right for me.  I was her China Doll that she would protect to her last breath.  If we where ever out of the confines of our home, she would shield me from everything and would at all times keep me by her side.  Although now in retrospect, at that time, she loved me so much and protected me like a lioness her cub, that it actually strangled me, and stunted my childhood experiences.  It made me afraid of adventure, fear of the unknown, scared to try anything I had never done before.  Mummy did everything for me, made sure my belly was full, chose the clothes I should wear, brushed my long hair every morning and night.  She was like my real life guardian angel that was always there and she protected me in a bubble that no one could get close to.