"Anchoring" myself to things during...

For me it was just going away from what was happening ,it didn't happen every time but during the worst i could go to another place in my mind and not be aware of what was happening until it was over then the pain the brusies let me know it happened again. Things like your anchors are the only things kept a tiny part of us sane,i'm so glad you had them . This is something i wrote about the place i'd go to.I learned later it's called dissociation

The boy in the attic
The confusion is there as he wakes,his vision fades from dark to light.Dust motes before him, golden shafts of sunlight sprinkled with falling diamonds. The boy knows this place well ,in fact it's the only place he is . Rubbing his eyes his vision clears ,there against the wall the body with no arms or legs ,tattered remnants of the dress never finished ,never worn .The old trunk bound in leather straps ,brass hasp shining in the light.Nearby a broken lamp, shade missing gathers dust.The air is dry ,hot and musty,any movement causes small explosions of dust to puff up then settle back leaving no trace of his passing .He doesn't know why he is here ,here in this attic in a little boys mind, his refuge ,his salvation. Nothing reaches him here he feels the other but knows not the pain, he is the saved ,the observer ,the soul survivor.Across the room high up on the wall a crescent of sky , A curtainless half moon of dirt streaked glass streams sunlight .Standing ,he brushes the dust from his jeans and watches spellbound as it joins the diamonds in the light dance. He walks barefoot his feet leaving small impressions on the dusty floor that fade as quickly as they appear.Standing below the moon window he gazes up at the light in child like wonder.Looking to the side he spots an old crate cloverland dairy in fading paint on it's side, without thought he struggles to pull the crate to just below the window using all his strength to stand it on end . He is too small to pull himself up onto the crate ,he needs something else to make a step. Under an old broken baby carriage he sees a small box marked photographs and brings it to the crate.He steps onto the box but it collapses ,spilling photoraphs all around the crate .Pictures of a boy as a baby ,innocent ,perfect.The boy happy, laughing sitting on a tricycle .The boy begins to sob softly ,filled with sadness and loss .The boy looks familiar . Sweeping the phots aside he searches the attic for anything to boost him up to the crate. There in the corner a small footstool ,perfect!Pulling it to the wall he steps up and the crate wobbles frightning the boy. Standing on tip toe his eyes pull even with the bottom of the window ,the glass crusted with dirt of the ages ,slipping off his batman t shirt he rubs at the glass ,to no avail .He spits onto the glass and wipes a small square clean. Below him a scene is unfolding .Lush green grass spills away fading into taller yellow grasses swaying gently in an unseen breeze. In the space between the green and the yellow stands the boy from the photos ,dressed in pristene white he almost seems to glow as if from an inner light . The boy is small so small that the grasses hide his form from sight .But from the attic the boy can see forever . The boy in the yard begins to pace ,he seems frightened .He walks a few steps then stops short ,a few steps in the other direction with the same result almost as if there is a wall that the boy above can't see . He kneels and reaches down to his ankle and the boy above can see what is stopping him ,around his leg a shackle attached to a heavy chain anchored in the ground .Why he wonders ,why is the boy chained? The boy tests the chain again and again pacing back and forth ,limt to limit .As the attic boy watches what he thought was a breeze moving the grass begins to change crushing down the yellow grass opening pathways to the boy .The boy senses the change and becomes frantic pulling at the chain ,pounding on the shackle .His eyes dart from side to side sweeping the grass abstract terror. Something is coming ,moving swiftly through the tall grass.There on the right ,Please god the boy in the attic whispers in horror. Dark shadowy shapes on all sides ,animal shapes ,primal, yellow eyes glowing ,muting out the yellow from the grass.The attic air is stagnant filled with a fetted animal smell choking the boy .As they emerge from the grass the boy lunges widely at the chain, his eyes filled with the horror .The attic boy wants to turn away but is held by an unseen force .The beasts circle the boy ,yellow eyes burning ,spittle flying as they shake unspeakable heads from side to side. The boy spins like a dervish trying to predict where the attack will come from.He will fight knowing he has no chance,the attic boy cries out run ! Oh god please run ! He forgets the chain holding the boy fast.He can only watch as the beasts close in ,the first one darts is ,slashing the boy with razor sharp talons ,he spins reeling from the blow and tries to strike back .He is hit from behind then one side then the other,as the pull him under he reaches out one last time to the boy in the attic, help me .Suddenly the crate topples from under the boy and for a moment he hangs suspended above the dusty floor and a pile of old clothes .His grip fails and he falls into the softness of the clothes, his back bumps an old hall tree and a straw hat as big as the boy falls down over his face . A small giggle escapes from under the hat pushing it back the boy's small fingers begin drawing dust angels on the splintered floor ,all memory of the other boy gone ,his mind running through fields of flowers and singing birds after a while the boy sleeps safe in his attic world , until the next time .

You’re a strong and amazing person to have held it together that’s something that wouldn’t have been easy to live with in your head your an inspiration ❤️

A pocket knife, just inches from my outstretched hand...desperate and agonizing minutes, seconds. Till I found contact with the blade.

https://similarworlds.com/7787600-I-Write-Short-Stories/1836729-Ok-So-this-is-a-longer-short-story-that-I

https://similarworlds.com/7787600-I-Write-Short-Stories/1836750-Scouts-Honor-Chapter-3-Excuse-me-Dan-Kyle

I'm so sorry... No one should have to go thru that. My heart goes out to you.