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Tods Blog/ today on Tod.About.."You cant have today without tod, because the first part of today "is" Tod!

From living nightmares ,to dreaming in real life (part 1)

by Mr.Tod A.Parker

For a long time I was afraid to dream .Dreaming meant going to sleep. Sleep meant there was a chance I d be awaken tothe abusive shouting of the step man ,or if I did fall asleep he would appearin the nightmare and wreak havoc there. And as if that werent already enough ,countless times Id awake from theses dreams only to have the step man re-enactit

No wonder I was the only kid that liked school.It was school where I found my escape from the abuse. Not talking about it ,butengrossing myself in books .Mostly fiction at the time. The words on the pageswould just come to life and fill my mind with images of people laughing andgoing out . Simple things like playing in the park or speaking were strictlyforbidden at home and the penalty was rather severe. I would always be drawn to books that toldstories of the wrongly accused, loners, drifters, innocent outsiders who weredealt a bad hand but still persevered. These stories became inspiration. Thepeoplein those stories were my heroes. I looked up to them and wanted to be like them.

In fact I would dream of the day would come where I would be able to escape theprison of my abuser and do the simplethingslike have friendsgo to the park . But for now books would do .It wasthe only link I had to the outside world. It was just enough to teach me toimagine what life was like if those words jumped off the pageNow if I couldonly be that person who was living that life..And I would drift off to sleep..anddreamIt wasin the dreams that Ibegan to live. You see I guess somewhere along the way my mind set up a selfdefense mechanism to protect me from the

abusive horror I was surrounded by. It was just enough to keep me from becomingthe worst kid possible .I never had asingle run in with the law. I always was respectful to my elders. Never spokeback. I hardly knew I had a voice I really was a good son.( Or at least stepson) And an excellent servant .I wastrained to do regular house chores at around age 6 . My daily chores includedcleaning the smallapt that we lived in .I wasnt allowed to go outside, so I hardly knew what itlooked like until the step man would drive us somewhere .Upon our return It wasback to stand in the corner for me where I would stay for hour and hours on end. I had no knowledge of a sense of timeor day of the week except for what I may have caught Walter Cronkite mentionwhile I was forced to stay in that corner.

PINK HOUSE WITH A WHITE PICKET FENCE

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It wasaround the mid 70s that I found out there was an outside. I really had beenlocked in the house for along long time. So when we moved and I went to a different school I had towalk. Wow I could see the trees and sky , people. These simple things that aretaken for granted were so precious because remember, I had only read about theblue sky or the trees. I would dream of some distant place and time place where

there was no step man But that seemed impossible. I had to wait on him andhis children hand and foot because by nowI was nothing more than a well trained servant .As I became older(11) my responsibilitiesgrew We were in a bigger house So I hadmore chores to do Feed water and cleanup the dogs Clean ,dust vacum , bathroomsand clip the overgrown grass every weekend with the hand-held grass clippers.As well as tend to his other children . Sometimes I would get so upsetseeing the step man pick them up from school and drive past me in the inclementweather while I had to walk . By the time gothome from school I was so frozen , but I

had to immediately start my chores and homework. The step man kept me so busy with housework and being at his beck and call till 3am,that I never completed myhomeworkThe teachers thought it was suspicious .I couldnt tell them that the step man kept me from doing it No interaction with people meant no library. So often Iwouldget an assignment which called for research in the library but the step man refusedpermission. So I would get an F. This enragedthe step man. Through no fault of my Id created a situation where he would hit me .

Hard.Several times.Knocking me to the floor where I would cowl in fear trying to get away only to have the belt buckle sting as it hit me across the ear. Then reaching his handsaround my throat , I remember what fear and terror combined with helpless ness and despair was ,knowing that the very next thing he would do would be to punchme in the face..Then darkness.By the time I opened my eyes and I was forced to return to the room. A few moments later he would call me again and have me clean the blood off the buckle and carpet and continue with my chores .I would look at the scars on my neck and try to figure how I would hide them. The welts on my back from the belt would surely raise suspicion when I had to change for gym. The suspicions would raise questions. Questions would lead to investigations. Upon my being questioned about my bruises I shut down. I knew that if I told, the step man would kill me. I believed him. The school LABELED at it as me being defiant. I knew better than to tell what horrors I was living with ifI wanted to survive.These were not dreams .These were living nightmares.

This is what kind of world I lived in for 18 years.

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I had to learn how to dream of day where I wouldnt have to stay in a locked roomor be someone elses servant . I had to dream of the day where I wouldnt be on the receiving end of his fist, belt ,open hand across the face or any other object he could find to inflict pain.So I dreamed of the lives of the people in books that I had to sneak in to read.

To be continued.Related articlesWelcome to my dream . (todtv1.wordpress.com)