Brice Taylor / Chapter Three: We're Off to See the Wizard - Disneyland pg.58-61 When I was five years old my mother and father took me to the newly-opened Disneyland in Anaheim, California. As we walked down Main Street, we ran into Walt Disney and my father stood aside as Walt Disney, larger than life to me, bent down and shook my hand. He told me that if I would write to him he would write back to me. I didn't consciously remember anything else after that. What happened next, though, as I later recalled, was that Walt Disney looked at my father with eyes that said important things I couldn't understand. My father then led my mother in the other direction and I was left alone with Walt Disney. My parents never said goodbye or anything, they just left me and walked away. I was terrified and confused at realizing that my parents just disappeared. Walt took me to an office, lifted me up on a big desk that had a glass piece on top and told me that he was my real father. He said the Mickey Mouse Club was my real family--where I really belonged. Everyone was always telling me I belonged to a different family than my parents and I didn't understand, it was all very confusing. Walt Disney seemed nice but I wasn't with him very long. He called another man in and that man took me by the hand and led me away. This man was a very bad man and he really scared me. He took me into another room and gave me those view master box glasses to look into. He showed me pictures in them that were so scary that other parts of me had to come to see them. It was too much for a little girl to see. Dead things--cut up bodies, dead cats skinned with big eyeballs and their tails cut off, people cut up, etc. We had that toy at home but mine had cartoon pictures in it. This event involved several of my personalities.
Next, the man took me to scary rides and poked me with needles in my waist and legs while he said things during the Alice in Wonderland ride, like, "This is not really happening. I am not really sticking this needle in your leg. You are just like Alice. You also ate the large mushroom and feel funny--this is not real." He kept laughing and acting like all this was fun and games and really amusing, but it was terrifying and confusing to me, and I couldn't understand why he was hurting me. Parts of me split off as they withstood the abuse and I pushed the experiences deep into my subconscious mind as my programming dictated. Then the man took me to Mr. Toad's Wild Ride and sexually abused me by taking off my panties and pushing me up and down on top of his penis while we were going through the dark, enclosed ride. During many years that followed, I got hurt on Mr. Toad's ride. I was instructed to be extra sexy and wild and crazy in order to be "good" and not get hurt. If I did it right and performed on cue, then I didn't get hurt when it was over. When we came out into the light from the darkened ride, it was over and if I did it right I could stop and go back to my Mommy. If I did it wrong, I had to do it all over again until I did it right. They always hurt me real bad if I made a mistake. I tried my best. It seemed like I had to stay at Disneyland for a long time, but at the end of the long day, I got to have a pretty balloon that I looked at as I laid in the back seat of the car all the way home. I was devastated, exhausted and out of it during the ride back to Woodland Hills, but looked up at the pretty Mickey Mouse ears balloon or the Mickey Mouse balloon within a balloon, before I finally fell into a long deep sleep. .......................
This is dummy text. It is not meant to be read. Accordingly, it is difficult to figure out when to end it. But then, this is dummy text. It is not meant to be read. Period.
ConversionConversion EmoticonEmoticon