Tag Archives: stupid boy

A Few Questions

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I was asked some general wonderings, too, when I asked what people wanted to know. I guess that these are things I can’t quite cover in the book, so I’ll answer them here. Anything else I might not cover, just ask on my page or here, or message me. 🙂 I try to answer as best as I can.

These come from Kimberly:

 

“What happened to Nathan? “

 

We were friends until I was around 27. I still see him on Facebook, but we don’t talk that much really. He doesn’t live far away. As far as I can see, he is happy. We drifted apart because as my mental health got worse, I started to cancel things and eventually, he stopped asking. I miss him a lot, though.

“Are you still friends with anyone from college? “

 

No, aside from Facebook, I don’t see them anymore.

“Do you still live in the same area? “
I don’t live that far away from where I grew up. Probably just a 15-minute drive.
“How are you doing without being in therapy?”
I found therapy useless to be honest. I do better alone. My last one, last year, was pretty bad. He wouldn’t let me talk about anything. He’d say, What does it matter? It’s in the past. And had me down as having low self-esteem issues, which I don’t.

I did have CBT for my OCD at one point, but it didn’t cure it, just helped me to calm it a little. I needed that back then. I was living in a bubble.

I went to one therapist about my PTSD and the badman. He pretty much accused me of having an overactive imagination and said we’re all afraid of the dark when we’re on our own.

So, without therapy, I cope as best as I can.
“Do your children know anything about your abuse?”

 

They don’t have a clue. They know little things, like me not having a bed until I was 9, but no, they have no idea really, and I am glad about that.

 

“I’m also curious why your brother hates your dad so much. Was he aware of the things going on maybe, and just didn’t say? Was he abused in some way? Do you have a relationship with either of your brothers?”

 

I don’t exactly know why my brother hates my dad so much. I think it’s just a bad relationship and that our father is selfish, and he sees that. They fell out really when my brother asked me lots of questions, like whether my Nan used to beat me, like our parents had claimed. He realised it had all been lies and that made him angry. I don’t think he was abused, but he has issues from living in that house. Maybe he saw things. He was in the same bed as my father and I. He doesn’t live too far away. He comes and goes, but we talk. My older brother lives abroad now; we talk on Facebook. I have other siblings from later in life. My youngest sister is 12. I don’t really have contact with them, though.

 

 

I Want to Show You Something

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If you could zoom through space in the speed of light, what place would you go to right now?

Blogging 101 Day Two.

cropped-class-seal_seal-class-of-september-20141

 

I want to show you something. I want you to really see. I want you to understand. Not through your eyes, nor through mine, but through what I show you. I want you to look.
The room, it’s filled with shades of orange and yellow, warm sunlight filters through the curtain from the dusky autumn evening. The sunshine creeps in so much that the smell of the warmth permeates through the room. Evening motes dance idly across each ray that gets through, oblivious to what they are about to see. On the floor, leaning against the wooden box, just in front of a window, is a boy.
He’s sitting there, small and innocent. He’s almost silent, save for the small hiccups that make his body tremor from the crying he’s since pushed down. His tiny arms wrap around his legs, small hands and small fingers try to ease away the fear that’s inside. His head is down, he doesn’t want anyone to see him cry. He doesn’t want anyone to know that he is upset because he’s getting a new brother. He doesn’t want his mum and dad to be taken away. He’s five years old, his parents are his world.
He’s afraid.
Look at him. Look at his face, so small. Look how he bites his lip to keep it from quivering. He doesn’t blink to keep the tears in his young eyes. He’s trying so hard to make himself happy. His dad is happy, so he should be. His dad is happy; he’s going to have another son.
Watch the door. Watch it and see. Cruelty ascends from the darkness below. Hidden behind the face of an ordinary man. Covered in the mask of a love. He gets closer, the heavy footsteps approach, and his evil design in his mind.
Just watch.
Dark intent drips from him with every step. The walks over to the other side of the room first, he turns his back, but don’t look at the man. Look at the boy, look at his face as he swipes away his tears so the man doesn’t see. Did you see?
The man walks over to the boy, crouches down and enquires what’s wrong. He hasn’t been fooled, he sees the boy has been crying. The boy puts his head down, he doesn’t want to say. The man gives a loving sigh and smiles down at the boy. He reaches out and touches the boys hair, soothing him as he invites him to sit on his lap for reassuring comfort.
Maybe I could stop there. Leave it in a moment of care. I want to scream at the boy. I want him to put his arms down. Don’t fall for it. Don’t. Run away. I want to shout until my voice is hoarse and my breath is gone.
Do you see?
Does it not make your heart constrict?
The man had plans all along
Did he not care that it was wrong?
He lifts the boy, picks him up.
Turns him around, slams him down.
His hand over his mouth to stifle his screams
His clothes torn from him, to shatter his dreams.
Listen to the cries of stolen innocence. Listen to the screams as the man violates.
Listen to the sound. How can you stand it? The wail of agony. Pain so deep, it will stay forever. Listen to the sound of those falling tears, I can’t stand it. I cover my ears.
The boy is five
The man doesn’t stop
He doesn’t listen.
After, he stands victorious above the boy.
The boy, broken, bleeding and bewildered. Innocence never knew such evil.
I said I wanted to show you something. I want to show you the boy. Look at the child, curled in a ball. Look at him shaking. Look at his face. Look at his tears. Listen to the way he cries. Look at the way he tries to get up.
Watch as he looks at the man, not understanding.
Watch as the man leaves.
I wanted to show you a day, the say when the sunlight came through the window and evil came through the door. I wanted to show you when the man broke the boy and didn’t care anymore.
I wanted to show you the day a father killed his son, not the living and the breathing, but his soul that is within.
You dad, you are the man and I am the boy.
I wanted to show you.

Day Two!

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Day two. Yes, day two of no self-harm, quite an achievement, especially when I didn’t start the day that way. I didn’t want to get out of bed. I didn’t want to face the day today, but I did, I got out of bed before that harming feeling took over. I wanted to share something today, it’s from a reader, he gave me his permission to share this. If all my books ever do is help children like the one he speaks of, then they were so worth writing and sharing. I’ll paste it below. I wish everyone in the world could have this kind of insight.

It took me a while to realise he was talking about me and talking about that little boy from long ago. I had to read it a couple of times before I understood, but here it is. Thank you Colin, and everyone else for the bundles of support I receive every day. I hope you all know how much it means to me.

Hello James my name is Colin. I don’t know where to start… It feels like I’m sitting down to write an essay… I’m 43 living in a small town near Shepparton Vic , Australia.. I’d like to tell you about a small friend of mine.. He doesn’t know me but I feel I know a small piece of him and his life.. He decided to write about himself and published a series of books. He wrote in a fashion I could understand about his misfortunate upbringing and day to day life….. I’d like to tell you how much I cried and still cry on a daily basis of the horrors this little friend went through and I believe still goes through every minute he breathes.. I can’t understand and I never will how he feels. He doesn’t know how much his books have changed my life forever…. I have lived in a gay relationship with my partner of 12 years, He’s a GP and has been there for me in the past month for when I felt really down and helpless reading my little friends books.. I couldn’t help him and I got heavily depressed… But that was ok, My feelings were nothing compared to what this boy was going through. My partner was very understanding and I feel for him too as he has to try and diagnose people with their own problems.. Recently my bike was stolen from my house by a 14 year old boy, He was caught and charged. I thought nothing more of it until I received a phone call one day.. I was requested if I had the time to be apart of a group conference for the young lad. I find out later this boy is living in a foster care type of accommodation and is only allowed to see his mother for 2 hours a week. I thought long and hard about doing this, I was in the middle of reading my small friends book at the time and took a different view of this young thief. I did go to the conference. I’m a funeral director and to be honest with the job I do I really couldn’t care less about my bike. What I was more concerned about why had this kid got into the state he was in… The funeral industry has changed my views on a lot of things, one being, life is too short as it is to worry about material things… I explained this to the kid and how in the first few months of doing the job I had to prepare a 14yo girl who had suicided for her funeral… I explained how I cried and that she had made a bad choice, he on the other hand still had his whole life ahead of him.. The long story short he seemed like a nice enough young man and had been influenced by the conference. I got a good feeling from it as well but then heavily saddened by what life he has gone through to get where he is. I would like to help this kid so I’m making a few phone calls to see if there is anything my partner and I can do for him. We have to be careful as some of the public are still on the belief that all gay people are perverts… Anyway It brings me back to my own plight, While reading the books I felt there was a heavy bearing of my own life in them.. I too sniffed petrol from a very young age and from a broken family of alcoholism on my father’s side I had my own questions to ask. As a child of around 7yo I remember overnight stays with one of my mother’s male friends of the time. I don’t recall any bad doings from this man except sleeping in the same bed. Confirming this with my brother and sister I think I was fine. My mother has passed away so I couldn’t ask her anyway. I’m sorry I hope I haven’t rambled on.. James I think you know my little friend very well, I’ve started to cry again as usual while typing this but he has taught me that’s ok.. please cut him some slack and give him a big hug for me.. That’s all I can do.. I still feel helpless but I hope for the best for him and yourself.. One of your photo’s say “sometimes when you see a person cry…….. I am here!…..” You can re-blog my letter if it makes any difference

Please tell our little friend how much he means to me… Thanks Colin

 

I know you all can't hug me, but when you send messages, even when I am too sad to reply, this is how it feels.

I know you all can’t hug me, but when you send messages, even when I am too sad to reply, this is how it feels.

A Waste of Time

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8

I’m sorry for the swearing and any typos in this. I don’t have it in me right now to go over it and correct them.

A waste of time.

That’s what I am. that’s what I feel. I had an friend just recently tell me that our friendship for almost for the last few years had been a waste of time. A waste of her time. For years she used to tell me i was worth something and that i meant something to her. She encouraged me and helped me, but in the end, it was a waste she said. I guess it’s true. I look back at our friendship, then i look back at my parents too and everyone that has followed them. I was a waste of their time too. I seem to be a waste of everyone’s time. They knew, right from the start. They saw it. They knew I wasn’t worth loving. They knew all along, they were right. I should have listened to them. Parents are always right.

I keep asking myself why i am still here. I don’t want to be and it is clear throughout my life, that aside from my children, it would probably be better if I wasn’t. People try to be my friend, but i hide away. I don’t want them to see the badness that is there. Its always been there. People who read my books just don’t want to see it, they see an innocent child. But its a lie. He’s a lie. I’d hand him over to all those people again myself if i could go back in time. He deserved it. He deserved everything.

I hear his cries in my head and i want to scream at him to shut the fuck up. This is what he deserves. It all is. Because, as people say or prove. He is just a waste of time and so am I.

Originally i was going to blog about something that felt like a victory to me this weekend. I had bought fresh chicken, touched it and cooked it. Having OCD, that was a huge challenge for me. But today I think why. What kind of idiot cant even buy a chicken without standing for 10 minutes in the supermarket and trying to hide the upset and turmoil inside about which one feels right. Which is the one that wont cause something bad to happen. And i look at myself and wonder why people don’t see how pathetic i am. I see it.

This morning at 4am, i woke up from a bad dream and the first thing i see is the bad man from my childhood, stood opposite me, on the other side of the room. Of course he wasn’t there, i was just having a flashback. I closed my eyes, unable to move, told myself i was safe. That he isn’t there anymore. He isn’t real. Isn’t that stupid? I’m a grown up. An adult, and still i get afraid of the monsters in the dark. Why cant I just be normal? Instead of this god damn stupid freak that i am, who is a waste of time. To everyone.

I gave in and self-harmed this morning. Isn’t that as pathetic as everything else? It didn’t even help. I can’t do it properly, like I need to. I wish I could cut through my own skin. I wish i could cut so damn deep that i wouldn’t be able to feel anything else. I wish i could do it until i was totally gone and then i wouldn’t need to waste any time for anyone else.

I wish i could go away. I wish that child had of died.

 

Goodbye Teddy. Released Today

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The wait is over. Goodbye Teddy, the fourth and final book, in the Dear Teddy series is now available on Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk.

With four, 5 star reviews already.

Dear Teddy Banner

This journey has been an odd one; I didn’t even know I was on it. Dear Teddy was born out of a conversation with my therapist at the time, a way for the child to speak after so many years of silence and being locked away in the dark. Once I gave him a pen and told him it was okay for him to talk, he didn’t stop. He had so much to say, and he did.
Goodbye Teddy is the fourth and final book in the Dear Teddy series, as with the previous books; it is told through the eyes of the child. He asks you to walk with him as he shows you his world. This is a tale of child abuse in all forms. Every page takes you through the horrific events and the ways he came to survive them. It shows you the betrayal by those very people that should have protected him; his mother and father.
Listen as he shares his secrets, his fears, his hopes and dreams. Laugh with him, cry with him, but don’t stop or close your eyes.

Goodbye Teddy
Goodbye Teddy

Goodbye Teddy

Excerpt
I sit on the cushions. I look at my dad’s bottle of petrol. Maybe I can drink it. It is poison. My dad says it is. He shouts when my brother plays in there. Because there is lots of things and it is poison and can make him die and go to heaven. I look at it lots of times. Maybe I can drink it all down. I think about it inside. Maybe it tastes nice. I like how it smells. Maybe it doesn’t taste very bad.
I reach over and get it. I open it. It smells nice. Maybe I can count. Not to four, though. Four is very bad. I count to three. One, two, three. Then I can drink it and I can go away and then everyone is happy about it.
One.
Two.
Three.
I lift the bottle up and then I put it at my mouth. I don’t tip it yet. I don’t keep the crying part away. I don’t ever be any good. “Drink it.” I say it very bad to myself. “Drink it. Drink it.”

 

goodbye back italics

The entire series can also be downloaded from Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk in a single book.

Coming 1st September

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This journey has been an odd one; I didn’t even know I was on it. Dear Teddy was born out of a conversation with my therapist at the time, a way for the child to speak after so many years of silence and being locked away in the dark. Once I gave him a pen and told him it was okay for him to talk, he didn’t stop. He had so much to say, and he did.

Goodbye Teddy is the fourth and final book in the Dear Teddy series, as with the previous books; it is told through the eyes of the child. He asks you to walk with him as he shows you his world. This is a tale of child abuse in all forms. Every page takes you through the horrific events and the ways he came to survive them. It shows you the betrayal by those very people that should have protected him; his mother and father.

Listen as he shares his secrets, his fears, his hopes and dreams. Laugh with him, cry with him, but don’t stop or close your eyes.

 

sept1stExcerpt

I sit on the cushions. I look at my dad’s bottle of petrol. Maybe I can drink it. It is poison. My dad says it is. He shouts when my brother plays in there. Because there is lots of things and it is poison and can make him die and go to heaven. I look at it lots of times. Maybe I can drink it all down. I think about it inside. Maybe it tastes nice. I like how it smells. Maybe it doesn’t taste very bad.

I reach over and get it. I open it. It smells nice. Maybe I can count. Not to four, though. Four is very bad. I count to three. One, two, three. Then I can drink it and I can go away and then everyone is happy about it.

One.

Two.

Three.

I lift the bottle up and then I put it at my mouth. I don’t tip it yet. I don’t keep the crying part away. I don’t ever be any good. “Drink it.” I say it very bad to myself. “Drink it. Drink it.”

 

 

Release

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I want to thank all who purchased my new book, “Stupid Boy”, or helped to promote it by sharing links to it, for me. Release day is always an emotional rollercoaster for me. Not because I am thrilled or overjoyed, but because I am afraid. Not only am I putting myself out there to the world; a world that is often judgemental and not always for the better, but because I am telling.

I am telling the real secrets I have held onto for 20 years or more. I am putting out into the world, a view of my parents that I do not actually hold, but one that those who read it, will form.

My father is still in my life, when I see him it makes the guilt more when I know what I have said about him. I feel like a child in these moments; of perhaps, facing my father and thinking who is going to believe me.

He is well respected. He has friends; he is liked. People seek him out for help and advice. He cares. His own daughter idolises him yet, here I am making him out to be some kind of sick monster with my words. Knowing how the world sees him and knowing what I know, I always feel like a liar. Even though my words are the truth, in my father’s world, I would be the liar and he would never do such things.sb cover final

It makes me question. I ask myself if things are real. Did I make them up? Did they really happen? I question my sanity. Perhaps, I am insane and these are just the visions from a psychotic episode. I detach and the events seem like a dream.

The guilt I feel is tremendous, yet each time, I sit to write. Each time, I let that little boy inside, have a voice. I feel better.

People often ask me how I can bring it all back up again. How I can relive it. They assume writing it is painful for me, but it is not.

Not writing it, is what hurts. Denying that boy his voice and his right to tell, leaves me lost. He thrashes around inside with all these things he wants to say and when I don’t let him, my dark days come.

It does not make a person sick when they take the poison out, it is when you try to hold it in that it devours you.

 

Stupid Boy

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Finally, I am pleased to announce that Stupid Boy, will be released tomorrow. The third book in the Dear Teddy series.
” I am a stupid boy, with stupid hair and stupid clothes. I am always stupid, forever. My badness comes out and makes it all stupid. I don’t tell Mr. Ted though. He is my friend. We go outside and we get to play. We chop up all the bad people with our swords. We play with Andrew too. He is magic, he is invisible. He doesn’t know that I am Stupid Boy. Nobody ever wants Stupid Boy.”sb cover final

Stupid Boy is the third instalment of Dear Teddy, and continues the pain-filled journey of a seven-year old boy through his horrific childhood of abuse. In his own words, he shows you his scars and tells you the lies that he believes; every page an accounting of the deliberate destruction of a child by those he loves and the strangers he is forced to please.

His gentle spirit will reach out and amaze you with its strength. Wrap your arms around him as he opens his heart once more and shares his life with you.

His story continues…

A review from a dear friend, Cyn, who beta read Stupid Boy for me 🙂

Have you ever felt such deep anger and hatred for two total strangers that you would happily hunt them down and cause them great physical harm? Well, this is how you will feel when you read JD Stockholm’s third book of the Teddy series. Any parent who can subject their child to the horrors that these people did should be made to undergo the same kind of torture. And worse. Because they deserve it. Their innocent child did not.

After reading the first two books, Dear Teddy and Telling Teddy, I remember walking around in a haze for days after. The books had shocked me and affected me so profoundly that it seemed I could think of nothing else. At home, at work, in the car. My own problems suddenly seemed dreadfully small and insignificant in comparison. The thing is, I knew about child abuse…but I didn’t actually “know”. These books open your eyes to a nightmarishly harsh reality that you wish did not exist and make you realise that, as a society, we are not doing nearly enough to help these innocent, helpless children.

I thought I had read the worst of it and that things could not possibly get any worse for our little hero in Stupid Boy. Unfortunately, I was so very wrong. This third book serves to illustrate just how deep his parents’ depravity runs. It will leave you frozen in horror and rage. Despite having realised from the first two books what kind of monsters we are dealing with, these people’s actions still succeed in shocking you into speechlessness.

The seven-year-old little boy still longs for his parents’ love and acceptance. He still desperately wants to be able to live with them because he needs them in his life. It is heartwrenching to see his sadness and despair for these undeserving people. He is like every other child who adores and even idolises his parents and craves their love and approval in return. But these are not normal people or parents worthy of his love. They do not even deserve the titles “Mum” and “Dad”. However, this is not something an innocent little boy’s mind can grasp or understand. He still believes that everything bad that happens to him is his fault and that it is because of “the evil” inside of him.

The role his mother plays in his sexual abuse, which is made much clearer in this book, is deplorable. You are appalled by her abominable behaviour and outraged that she could reject and maltreat her young son in that way. His father’s neglect and barbarity continues to be just as contemptible as it was. However, what shocks you most is how far these people’s mistreatment of their son eventually goes. The actions of his parents in this book are shockingly heinous. They are perverse throughout the book but I literally felt as if my heart had been ripped out at what they allowed him to be subjected to in the end. It is impossible to relate to their inhumanity and their complete lack of compassion or parental instinct.

It is ironic how this young boy tries to protect his mother in one instance in the book, when it should be the other way around. She should be trying to protect her child but she has done nothing remotely close to that. In fact, she has allowed the exact opposite to occur. Even here she pushes him away, rejecting his help and him once again. It tears you up inside and makes you hate her even more. As for his father, you seriously question whether he has any humaneness or any sense of decency in him at all. Whether he is even human.

The story is made even more effective by the way the writer has us see it from a little boy’s perspective. His childlike mind and speech make him totally loveable and his innocence is utterly endearing and heartrending. At one point, his benevolence and kind-heartedness even has him worrying whether he may have caused hurt or discomfort to the very people abusing him. This is one of the things that makes this entire tragedy even more saddening.

Another thing that breaks your heart is how he believes he is so bad that not even God wants him in heaven. All this, after he has just survived another case of brutal abuse. He wonders why he did not die and comes to the conclusion that he is not good enough for heaven. Also upsetting is the fact that he says and thinks this with such acceptance. He believes he is responsible for and deserves all this atrocity. Atrocities that will make you shudder and cry.

Stupid Boy also broaches a much debated and predominant issue in today’s society. How and why a child can turn to self-harm, imaginary friendships or Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. How it can engender a false sense of alleviation or relief for a child.

JD Stockholm is an extremely talented writer and has again done an amazing job in making you experience the boy’s anguish, terror and despondency as if you were there with him. You feel it so deeply that you wish you could climb into the pages of the book and pull him out of all the dreadfulness. The author should be applauded for his courage to write these books that talk about such painfully horrendous experiences. They have served to open our blind eyes and urge us to act. They urge us to stop looking the other way and acknowledge a grisly truth that we would rather deny.

I highly recommend read this book, as well as the first two if anyone has not already read them. A definite five-star rating.

Stupid Boy

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A good friend of mine and fellow author Azure Boone read Teddy three, which at the moment I affectionately call Stupid Boy. Its a working title at the moment. She thought to write a review of it so far and said I could share it here. 

So, I beta read Dear Teddy part three by JD Stockholm.  The current working title is I think is “Teddy and Stupid Boy”

When he sent me the file, it was titled Stupid Boy. First thing I wanted to do was change it. Isn’t that how we are though? Wanting to just erase the wrong, and make it right? I did that throughout the manuscript in fact, changed words to erase the lies. I was like an out of control parent, storming through his past and rewriting shit like it might actually help.

He said he got a good laugh, so, I’m glad for that.

But you know, the most amazing thing happened while I read book three. I began to really understand this kid. I began to “get” why he didn’t want to look in the mirror, “get” why he felt “bad”.

Reading these accounts in the child’s pov has allowed me to actually watch how the abuse took hold of him, how he processed it and how his phobias were born.

Tremendously educational while at the same time, horrific.

Some things that really struck me in book three, I mean really slapped awe into me, was this kid’s compassion! The best way for me to explain it, is to show it. Warning…this scene is taken from the part in his life when he’s being sexually abused by strangers all day long at a “camp” his “parents” sent him to:

My hand is sore. I don’t be able to hold the cover very tight. The girl next to me has too much and I don’t be able to pull it back. The dark man made it all sore because he squished it all down. He didn’t mean to. He said he was sorry about it. I told him it was okay. I didn’t want him to be sad about it.

I swear. This broke my heart. I mean, here’s this sweet kid, suffering the most horrific shit, and he has the heart to care about the man who hurt him. Un-believable. Truly.  I couldn’t even comment on what form of torture would befit this mother-effer. I was too blown away.

What’s different about book three too is the whole Stupid Boy theme. At this time, this kid is sure he’s got to be the most stupid kid on the planet. He can’t do anything right, everything he does makes people hate him and hurt him. The author opens every chapter with a small Stupid Boy story that summarizes what the chapter holds. So very clever, and as usual, the voice, the vocabulary, is just remarkable. I mean, Stupid Boy is my hero! I love Stupid Boy, he’s like the most awesome kid on the planet to me. He was even nice to the monsters in his stories:

Stupid Boy and his friends all went out for the day. They went to the big hills that touched the sky. They climbed the hills. It took a long, long time. Maybe a week. There was lots and lots of snow. It was all white and shiny and cold.

Mr. Ted thought maybe there would be penguins. They got to hear a growl outside. It was a snow monster. It was all big and scary.  He got big giant claws that was all black. He got sharp teeth too and was going to eat everyone all up.

Mr. Ted and Stupid Boy got their swords and went outside to chop the monster up. Mr. Ted hit the monster with his sword and the monster cried.

Stupid Boy feeled sad in his tummy. The snow monster was cold. He wanted to sit in the tent by the fire.

They all got to be friends.

I vote Stupid Boy for president!

Another amazing thing I learned was why the child in the story thought he was bad. He didn’t like when his father did sexual things to him, and so, he was sure it was the bad inside him that made him not like the sexual things his father and mother made him do. His parents were so good at pretending it was normal and good, that the child figured he was the bad one for having a problem with it!

That just blew me away when I realized that was happening.

I think the end of this book was the hardest for me to read out of all the books so far. In fact, I even told him, “I don’t think you’re going to be able to put this, it’s too horrible, people aren’t going to be able to read it.”

And it was only a day’s account at that hellish camp they sentenced him to. I asked him how long he went there. He told me every weekend and during holidays, for nearly two years!

Why was this abuse worse? Because it hurt him more. He wanted to go home. He wanted his mom. His dad. This abuse at the hands of strangers was much worse on his psyche than any other. And it went on for nearly two years. The reader wouldn’t be able to endure that torture, because I believe they become very tied to him throughout the book and would feel like they were making him live it again.

And for others like me, if it’s there, I must read it. Or I will feel like he’s shared something and I have left him alone to bear it. So, I’m not sure how much of it will get left or removed, but, I do hope he does whatever he needs to.

Well, this concludes my review on the Dear Teddy part 3 book with the working title of Teddy And Stupid Boy.  I thank the author for allowing me the privilege of reading this account and not being angry at me for marking it all up with my temper tantrums. Be looking for the release, it’s coming soon! Help me spread the news, help the author educate the public about the hidden side of child abuse.

 

Read it on her site here.