Conversations With The Inner Troll

The following account is a dramatic reconstruction. It is not word for word perfect, but is as truthful as I can make it. I had been watching the movie of On The Road. I was quite disappointed having loved the book. The thought occurred, as it has before, that Jack Kerouac was not entirely honest with his readers.

This thought gave the persistent inner voice of denial its inroad. It started off reasonably, like the voice of a concerned friend. “But you’ve not been entirely honest either. Mr R only ever meant well for you. What you’ve said he did, that’s evil you know? Why would you want to ruin the reputation of someone who only ever loved you..?”

Pause. Rewind. Scratch the word love… “Took a professional interest in you. He helped you with your dyslexia. If not for him you’d still be labeled as mentally retarded.”

I was stunned and ready to be appalled at myself. My memories are foggy, had I turned like a rabid dog and bit my saviour? Had I made it all up?

The voice continued, “You just needed someone to blame for the disappointment you feel, for the way you fail at everything.”

I may fail at most things, I thought, but everything is a bit harsh. (Please take note, even when beating myself up, I never entirely lose my sense of humour). But I was starting to suspect that the voice was not really on my side.

So yet again I trawled through the memories, separating the irrefutable from the reconstructed, sifting for truth. I remembered Mr R playing dead, then chasing us, catching us, undressing us. I remembered him panting, his breath in my ear, his hands all over me and his foul BO.

Realising it was losing the argument, the voice changed tactic. “That never happened to you. It happened to to him. You only witnessed it.”

That’s it, I thought, that’s when my psyche split. First it was happening to me. Then I was outside myself, watching it happening to someone else.

That was ME, I protested. I saw it. I know it.

“You were a dirty little slut and you got exactly what you wanted. And rather than face that, you blame the man you snared. If you had any self respect you’d kill yourself. The world would be better off without you.”

I think it overstated its case. But it was doing doing its job, fulfilling its only purpose.

It was born from the vow to keep eternal silence and to forget. It is a fully autonomous sub personality. Its sole requirement to guard the door & keep it locked at any price.

For now it knows it is beaten. But it’s not through yet, it will be back.

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5 thoughts on “Conversations With The Inner Troll

  1. A moving post, I’m sorry to hear of your anxiety. These arguments seem to rise and fall with the waves of life. I hope the sea calms soon for you.

    1. Thanks. Fortunately this kind of self-doubt has only happened so extremely just the once as described. It sneaked in through the back door, took hold and for approximately 30 seconds I doubted reality.
      When the trauma first broke the surface I seemed to be in a perpetual state of anxiety and was put on medication.
      For the most part, I now consider myself over it. It still bothers me, but the panic response has gone.
      I suppose I wanted to illustrate that closure is something that can never fully happen as long as parts of the jigsaw remain missing.

      1. Never a truer word spoke. I’m glad this sneaky feeling doesn’t haunt you perpetually. Getting rid of that panic response is one I feel is the most important initial step (however difficult). I wish you all the best, and can’t wait to read more. X

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