When I was four I had a vision, of sorts, that probably helped to keep me alive. The significance of it to me at that time was that I became convinced I had to protect a Gift I had been given from my mother whom, it seemed, had made some sort of a pact with a dark angel I came to call “Lermontov”, as it resembled a movie character by that name. I had no doubt my mother was my adversary, but I did not at the time comprehend the extent of her antagonism.
Although a robustly healthy child, I regularly found myself becoming violently sick to my stomach and throwing up. Ironically, at those time, my mother was conciliatory and sympathetic, bringing me ginger ale with shaved ice and saltines to calm my stomach. This continued until shortly before I left home for college. Once I had settled into dorm life, my first thought was how nice it was to be somewhat on my own. My second thought was relief that I was no longer throwing up. It immediately occurred to me that my mother had probably been behind this, but my relief at having survived was my primary emotion.
Within a few months of this realization my father nearly died by his own hand. All my attention switched to him. I did not make the connection until recently, as, subsequent to that event, the rest of my birth family seemed to circle the wagons and lock me out, so to speak, that there could have been a connection. Other questions that I had about my birth family also began to fall into place when I looked at them from the perspective of my birth family trying to shield themselves from the consequences (not of their own actions, mind you) of my having survived this ordeal. :-0