Creating Dreams

Creating Dreams, is the third book in my trilogy.  Damaged Merchandise showed the reader the hopes and dreams that can come alive through sobriety.  Its prequel War Zone, shares my struggles with my first two years of sobriety.

And now Creating Dreams takes you on the journey of an Adult Child, dealing with the anger and confusion of a dysfunctional childhood, up to the point of addiction.

Addiction not only to drugs and alcohol but also to women and people that would fall for the manipulative games played during those insane times.
Creating Dreams is the prequel to War Zone and it lets go the last secrets of the past.

Dave Harm learned as a child, that abuse was acceptable, whether physically, sexually, or emotionally.  The ends justified the means.

 Preview...
Can a child learn to live and function in society, while memories of a dysfunctional past haunt him? This is my question.  A question, which I have not been able to answer, satisfactorily till this day.  Yes, I'm alive, now over 50 years of age, but I still find trouble trying to function.  I know how to survive.  I learned that at a very early age.  With two drunken parents, two brothers filled with anger and rage, and another brother who ran away and never looked back, survival got me to this point.  But there has got to be more.

By the time I was seven years old, I was on my way to being a master manipulator.  Anything I could do, to give my life any resemblance of peace I would try.  At this age, my major weapon was - lying.  I lied for my drunken mom, so she wouldn't be beaten by a father, who would come home from work expecting dinner and finding nothing.  Hi Dad.  Mom has been in bed all day, she's really sick.  A silence would fill the room.  He knew I was lying, but somewhere in his own mind, he also knew I was a child.  For an hour, maybe a little more, the house was quiet.  During that time, Dad would drink his scotch and waters.  Two, three, maybe four.  Pacing the house, any attempts to have a conversation with him was a waste of time.  As time past you could cut the tension with a knife.  Death hung in the air.  Dad was ready to explode, and Mom would pay the price, for drinking all day.  For sleeping, when
there was no supper.  For not being responsible enough, to make sure their filthy kid, took a bath.  Anything and everything would be her fault, and she would pay the price.  Growing up in this situation I began to feel the weight of the world.  I came to believe these beatings were a direct result of my actions.  Smacks could be heard throughout the house.  The silence was now broken, with the screams of my Mom and the yells of Dad.  Walls would shake, as she was repeatedly thrown against them, or picked up from the floor and slammed down once again.  What is a child suppose to do? I still hear the screams.  I see the black eyes, the swollen cheeks, and hear my father’s words.  If you don't quit drinking, I'll kill you.