Christmas lights, Christmas nights.
Before we broke off I said to my therapist that I wanted to continue giving a brief overview of my teen years but I think we will be going back to talk about the eighties. Its not images and sensations connected to the sexual abuse by my Scottish dad that flood every time I feel even remotely connected to my own sexuality. Its all about Savile now. I came round and remembered various times through out the years. Every time I would notice how much older his body was and how closely I had seen it age, how much my body knew him, it felt like big chunks of me had been cleaved of. He was one of those that it didn't matter how much I did or didn't fight, who I did or didn't tell I would still myself being raped by them and them with the same void in their eyes. The flashbacks from previous traumas would be so common and so intense sometimes I didn't know when I was remembering something that...