I’ve frequently said I base my writing on dreams, or dreamlike snippets of memory arising from trauma.
Here are a few:
- Walking down the street near Luvafair in Vancouver (a now defunct nightclub, Seymour St., near Drake), and being grabbed from behind, needle, darkness.
- Waking up in the dark, crawling to a door- I find my clothes outside and grab them, run to the first place I can’t be observed, put them on, go outside- why am I in Coal Harbour? The buses are no longer running. I get a cab home.
- A wealthy family steps outside a hotel and I walk past them on the street, intent on my destination: one of them, a dark-haired man, looks at me with wide eyes and someone says “It’s her.”
- Why does my favourite skirt, the one I was wearing at Luvafair, have a giant rip in it?
- Who is this dark-haired man, at a party thrown by strangers, who says he knows me, then leers?
- Vague memory of someone trying to give me a needle- I grab the syringe, force the liquid out, before it can be injected.
- Why did my former roommate Marcia mail me two shirts, later ask for them back, and get angry with me when I washed them?
- Vague memory of a voice saying “Get her on the boat.”
Little pieces, bits and pieces, but they’re coalescing into an interesting story. I am thinking this might go into a newer story that’s in my queue to write. Title TBA.
Interestingly enough, I have suffered PTSD- not necessarily from this, but the initial recollection of several of these points have been enough to trigger anxiety attacks.
I also know I’ve been raped- maybe or maybe not in Vancouver, but most definitely elsewhere. #MeToo.