Maybe I have a complex because...

Once upon a time there was a little girl. And this little girl realised very early on that although her parents loved her very much, she came second in the world. Not because they already had another daughter, but because they had to look after themselves first. So this little girl went into the world believing that she had to learn to look after herself too, but never quite acheiving that.

There was a boy in my class once who scared me very much. He would pinch my bum and bite my lip every chance he got. He stole his sister's toys to give to me, and threatened her if she didn't comply. He had golden curls like a halo and a juicy red lip which he chewed constantly as he drew all over everything, squinting up at me every so often through his thick healthboard-standard-issue glasses. The kids in the class never talked to me so I never really got what was going on, except when we were locked into the cupboard or when they cornered me with him. He scared the bejaysus out of me, and I used to have nightmares that we were married. I think I figured then that I will either marry him or end up single for the rest of my life.

Then there was the time that I had the boyfriend who I wouldn't kiss because I was scared. He used to put scotch in my beer to try and get me drunk enough to hold down. And the boy who locked me in his flat for two days so I couldn't get out. I got into awful trouble for that one. Followed by the man who called me a whore for being passive one minute and refusing to do what he told me the next. Then there was the boy I was madly in love with but could only touch when I was blind drunk from poitin and then we would just talk of how we wanted to commit suicide. Then there was a man I suppose who was into kinky sex who's idea of fun was S&M flavoured. He also called me a whore and then told me he wanted to marry me. Followed by a boy who didn't want to be with me and ended up staying for years. He called me worse than a whore, and said that I wanted to be treated badly. He showed me how totally incapable I was of protecting myself against a man, and brought me through all the stages of life in the space of a few paltry years. He left and slept around a bit, and returned and left. Since then I have managed only fleeting passes, ships in the night as it were. The most impressive was probably the guy in Mexico that tried to kiss me, whereupon I reacted by punching him, jumping over the balcony and running to the end of the garden and over a wall, along a beach and into the sea. I have a bundle of funny stories like that one.

So I think I have to admit I may have a slight problem. Yes, perhaps some is due to past ill-use. Obviously there are some things I just can't even write, let alone admit. And yet, I don't think I am that great a scaredy-boots in real life. So why can't I just let go and get on with it? What is it that will stop me having these panics?

I didn't get up today for a long time because I didn't want to deal with last night. Not that anything terrible happened, but even still I felt terrible. Why?