David Cassidy Saved My life – With Excerpts From My Memoir (Daily Word Prompt is Qualm)

David Cassidy was my first true love and always will be. Even to this day I love him for who he is and how he helped me cope and survive the abuse I suffered throughout my childhood.

He was my safe haven, my escape from reality, my protection, my security, the place my mind could go to when I needed to leave the reality I lived in, the painful scary reality inside my mind. David Cassidy gave me a safe and happy place to travel to and dream about. I found a way to go away from the unhappy reality of my childhood, the emotional, verbal, shaming abuse and physical abuse my childhood was filled with everyday of my life.

My childhood was also difficult and scary because I never knew what to expect from my father and the mood he was going to be in. My father had uncontrollable anger and behavior problems, causing me to never knew what to expect from him one minute to the next. It was like he was an alcoholic without even needing one drink. He made our home and my daily life a very scary place to live in. So, at a very young age I was all ready over come with severe anxiety.

Thankfully, my smart little young mind unconsciously learned how to protect myself by escaping inside my mind into a safe and happy and loving place to go. I left inside my mind leaving my reality.

David Cassidy helped me escape and leave my own reality. I stared at his pictures covering my walls, admiring his beauty and dreaming of who I thought he was. I read the “Teen Beat” magazines and all of the other  magazines he was in over and over.

I loved his music and the sound of his voice. I still do. Maybe it was because it still brings me back to happy memories of my childhood. It reminds and brings me back to the times when I felt safe and secure when I was young, the innocence and happiness of my childhood.

Thank you David Cassidy. I will always love you for saving my life.

Excerpts from pages of my Memoir…..

I truly knew there was something wrong with me and I was a bad horrible child and a brat, because of who I was and because I wet the bed. These thoughts plagued my brain every minute of my life, even when I was around other people, believing everyone knew what a bad girl I was because I wet the bed. After all, that was what my parents and all my relatives, except my Grandpa Meyers, told me repeatedly.

By the time I was five years old my self-esteem was shattered, broken and gone until the point where I began to dissociate and live in my own lonely, but safe world in my mind. I went away and pretended many times like I didn’t exist. I left the reality of my life.

I had a huge crush on dreamy David Cassidy and I was in love with him and who he was and everything I knew and thought him to be. He was beautiful and good and my life was not. I had all of David Cassidy’s albums and listened to them constantly over and over. His posters became the wallpaper of my room and my mind.

David Cassidy helped save me from my sadness bringing me to where I could dream of a place inside my mind where I was happy and life was safe from ridicule and shame.

My infatuation and dreams of David Cassidy could take me away from my painful life and environment and the reality that my mind needed to travel to feel and be safe to survive the life I lived. I needed to escape the pain of my life and from my deep-rooted pain inside my mind and heart.

During the very difficult painful times in my life, I would just go away in my mind as if I was not there at all. This was a form of escape and protection to keep me safe from my environment, hurtful experiences and thoughts in my mind. Eventually, my mind could and would go away on its own, and this I would later learn was called dissociation and is usually caused from PTSD.

My life and the entire situation of my life was absurd as my wetting the bed was the focus of my entire being. They praised me a little when I didn’t wet the bed or at least didn’t tell them I wet the bed. That was so stupid because I didn’t do anything differently. I had no control over my bladder and my wetting the bed was involuntary. Why on earth would I purposely wet the bad. I cannot imagine the stupidity with their idiotic thinking. I felt ashamed of myself for wetting the bed anyway and did not need anyone to say anything to me by shaming me. I was completely ashamed of myself anyway.

My mother was always so grossed out from my bedwetting, she told me that if I was going to wet the bed I had to wash my own sheets and pajamas. So, at five years old I taught myself how to wash and dry my own clothes. On the days when my mom and dad left for work, before I went to school I would very quickly run my urine soaked sheets and pajamas down to the laundry room and wash all of them in the washing machine.

The entire day at school I was always extremely anxious, worried and nervous thinking about how I had to run home, put that wet laundry in the dryer, get it dried and make my bed before anyone found out, especially before my parents got home from work. The qualms of my conscience, consumed me with thoughts all day long of what a horrible bad girl I was for wetting the bed and lying to my parents. I was scared knowing if I got caught in the lie my father would spank me in a very hurtful and shaming way. This caused me to be unhappy and extremely distracted all day at school. I needed school to be over so I could rush home and wash my sheets.

On the days that I wet the bed, the yelling and belittling would begin, shouting loud enough so the neighbors could hear. My father would always ask me harshly, “How can you do this to your mother? How can you treat your mother this way?! What is the matter with you?”

My mother always said things like, “How can you do this to me? What is wrong with you? Why can’t you stop doing this?” She would also make cruel unhappy faces at me and make these awful sounds, and sighs and grunting type of noises, because she was so upset with me. It didn’t matter if she didn’t say anything, she still made these awful cruel faces at me and humiliating cruel vocalization sounds at me.

My mother also always asked, “What is going to happen when you get your period and are still wetting the bed?” I believe that might have been her biggest fear in life. So, when I did get my period in seventh grade and I was still wetting the bed, she of course, said, ” I was afraid this was going to happen. I knew this was going to happen!” She acted like I was the worst human being that ever existed and it was just horrible for me to still be wetting the bed, like I was purposefully doing it to her. There was nothing worse to her then to have a daughter that wet the bed and had her period at the same time. It was the most awful thing that could ever happen in her life. How dare me to do this to her. What a terrible child I was.

They also called me a brat a lot. I guess wetting the bed made you a brat. To this day I cannot say the word “brat” and never called my children “a brat” because I hated being called a brat and was called it so many times throughout my childhood. I cringe every time I hear anyone call their child a brat or just hear the word brat.

My parents and family always treated me like I was a bad child because I wet the bed. They treated me like I did it on purpose just to hurt them, but of course I didn’t have any control over wetting the bed. It just happened. This was a long time before people had researched wetting the bed and understood that children couldn’t control their bladders or incontinence problems. It was also years before they had Depends or special underwear like panties for older children and older adults to wear for incontinence problems.

Just as I had to face the almost daily humiliating abusive shaming words, the spankings my father gave me were much worse due to how they were done. When my Dad found out that I wet the bed and I didn’t tell the truth about it, I knew what was going to happen. First, of course, I got verbally shamed and told what a horrible child I was. My father glared at me while he slowly pulled his big leather belt loop by loop from his pants, pulling his belt as slowly as he could as if he enjoyed seeing the fear he was causing me. I knew the torture I was about to receive. After he removed his belt from his pants he began snapping his thick leather belt together making loud rhythmic clacking sounds. Slowly and shamefully I climbed up the steps to the top of my spiral staircase to my bedroom with my Dad climbing the stairs right behind me repeatedly telling me many reasons why I was a bad girl and how awful I was. Throughout the long hike up the staircase my dad made a loud scary musical melody of rhythmic snapping sounds with his big leather belt weapon.

Once we got up to the top of the stairs and made it into my usually safe bedroom, my Dad said with his deep big bad gruff wolf voice, “You know what to do!” as if I didn’t know the normal routine of what was about to happen again.

I continued slowly walking forward toward my beautiful princess bed, which no longer seemed like a princess bed at all, but was more like the torture chamber and I definitely was not a princess. I faced my bed with my Dad standing closely behind me and I slowly and embarrassingly pulled my pants down to my ankles, so my Dad could see my bare white butt and nakedness.

Next, my Dad said cruelly, “Bend over!”

I already knew to do this, but I followed his gross command and bent over my bed with my butt cheeks hanging out facing my dad ready for the belt attack. I laid on the bed and pretended I was somewhere else as he aimed and swung his belt smacking my butt repeatedly enough times until he decided his punishment was a good enough torture and shame for me, until I got what I deserved. Then he proudly walked out of my room carrying his weapon in his hands as his duty was done. I slowly and shamefully crawled off the bed, bent down and pulled up my pants that were hanging heavily down at my ankles. I went back into my now sad but safe place in my mind, so I wouldn’t feel the physical pain on my bottom that the man who is supposed to love me and keep me safe just caused and I could also leave and forget what a horrible child I was.

No matter what I did I was going to have an almost daily consequence for a behavior I couldn’t physically control. The daily magnitude of being shamed and hurt verbally and physically for reasons I had no control over, made my abuse much more emotionally harmful making me feel as if I had no control over myself or my environment. If you are told daily that you are a bad horrible child and shamed daily for who you are, you have no other choice, but to believe it.

Because I believed my character was flawed and I was not normal, I was forced to try to live with who I was and survive in a world that I did not belong in trying to secretly hide my sadness, who I was and that I was a bed wetter.

I wanted to add this to my page, even though this paragraph is not in my memoir yet. I just thought it was important to add. My aunt had bought me tickets to go with her to see one of David Cassidy’s concerts and I was so excited, over the moon excited. I could hardly wait to go the next morning. However, when I woke up the morning of the concert, my parents found out I wet the bed so they punished me and wouldn’t let me go to the concert, even though my aunt all ready bought the tickets. I was crushed. My spirit was destroyed and my heart was broken.

It was time for me to leave and go away again into my safe and happy place inside my mind. I had to go away and leave my reality, as my own reality was too painful.

Thank you David Cassidy for taking me away from the horror of my childhood, at least for a little while.

You gave me a safe place to travel inside my mind and for this I thank you and I will always be very grateful and I will always love you.

I even have this lunch box. My oldest daughter bought this for me for Christmas one year. It is also full of Partridge Family DVDs, as well. This was one of my all time favorite christmas gifts, because it was so thoughtful as my daughter knew how much I loved David Cassidy. I guess it is kind of funny in a way, but that is how much I still love David Cassidy as he was my first true love and always will be. Plus, he saved my life by giving me an escape, a safe place to travel inside my mind during my childhood and I will never forget that. My mind will never let me forget the safe place my mind got to travel.

Copyright © By Susan Walz and myloudbiolarwhispers.com – All written content and personal artwork is © myloudbipolarwhispers.com and Susan Walz. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author/owner/artist is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to My Loud Bipolar Whispers and/or Susan Walz with appropriate and specific directions to the original content. (everything except the pictures and videos of course).



  1. Hi, what a good blog. I’m truly enjoying it and it brings back memories of my own abuse not thankfully by my dad but horrific sexual abuse from my uncle. I myself suffer from bipolar disorder 11 and I’m currently writing a blog that is actually turning into a memoir. I’ve recovered from Borderline Personality Disorder which was a horrible time, so self destructive but now I understand all the traits. I’m now dealing with the ups and downs of Bipolar disorder 11 without medication with the thanks to my psychiatrist. I was totally suicidal but thankfully no more. I’m following your blog and love your style. If you get a moment take a peep at mine.
    Cheers Mo X

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you very much for reading my blog and for your very kind comments. I greatly appreciate them and they make me truly happy. I am very sorry for your abuse from your uncle. You are a strong survivior. I tried to read your blog but I could not find it. It brought me to a home page of your blog but then I couldnt get any further for some reason. Sorry. I will try again and see what happens as I would love to read your blog. Be healthy, happy and blessed. Sue


  2. Hi, Mo back. I live in Ireland and there is a big time difference, it’s 3.23 am here and I’ve to be up at 7 am. I’ll try to get my 40 winks and hopefully you’ll be able to get into my blog
    User name Mo Doyle
    I’ve no computer experience as I was institulionised for 12 years and missed out on the whole world of technology. I’m writing on my smartphone.
    Night Mo 😴🇮🇪

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Wow! So cool to have a blogging friend from Ireland. Awesome. I am Irish and here it is absolutley beautful there. My Grandpa always wanted to travel there but unfortunately never made it there.I pray he got to visit from heaven… I am very sorry you were institutionalized for 12 years. You are so strong. What a survivor you are. You must have an awesome story to tell. I do want to read your words and your memoir. I just couldn’t get on but it could be me. I will try again. By the way you are doing quite well with your computer skills as I think it is much more difficult making a blog site from a phone. I hope you have happy dreams. Sue


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s