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    A World Gone Mad: The True Story Of Surviving A Dictatorship
    A World Gone Mad: The True Story Of Surviving A Dictatorship
    A World Gone Mad: The True Story Of Surviving A Dictatorship
    Ebook80 pages1 hour

    A World Gone Mad: The True Story Of Surviving A Dictatorship

    By Gretel Timan

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    About this ebook

    This autobiography is told through the eyes of a child growing into a teen from the last gasping thousand-year empire of Hitler into the equally evil government of East Germany, a life that had no normal childhood and a life of tears and fear and no future. Only being allowed to migrate to the US at age twenty-one changed the author's life.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPage Publishing, Inc.
    Release dateDec 4, 2024
    ISBN9798895530634
    A World Gone Mad: The True Story Of Surviving A Dictatorship

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      Book preview

      A World Gone Mad - Gretel Timan

      Table of Contents

      Title

      Copyright

      Preface

      Acknowledgments

      Prologue

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Postscript

      About the Author

      cover.jpg

      A World Gone Mad

      The True Story Of Surviving A Dictatorship

      Gretel Timan

      Copyright © 2024 Gretel Timan

      All rights reserved

      First Edition

      PAGE PUBLISHING

      Conneaut Lake, PA

      First originally published by Page Publishing 2024

      ISBN 979-8-89553-059-7 (pbk)

      ISBN 979-8-89553-063-4 (digital)

      Printed in the United States of America

      Preface

      I recently joined a writing group, and the question came up: Why do you write, and what do you write? I found three groups. There is the trivial but essential to-do list. It contains the don't forget list, the shopping list, the travel list, and what not to forget in that respect.

      Last summer, I traveled to Europe for five months and forgot to turn off the water. Coming back, I found a water bill for $1,088. The toilet flow had broken. Luckily, the pest control found it and informed the manager, who called the plumber, so when I came back, all was fixed. So maybe that trivial list is not so trivial.

      Then there is the social list. It is there to maintain friendships; plan things like visiting; share events, thoughts, feelings, happiness, and sorrow; and celebrate milestones in one's life.

      Finally, there is the private list—the heart list. I write to gain perspective, to look at things impartially, to recall things from the past, and, last but not the least, to wrestle with my demons.

      To paraphrase Goethe, A god gave you the gift to express what you so deeply feel. When I write, I am no longer alone. I share and unburden my heart. I touch eternity and connect with writers past, present, and perhaps the future. I am in a stream, insignificant as a person but connected to others in a mystical way. I can open myself up without constraints. I think that is where Goethe's god comes in, and I give thanks to that god and find peace.

      Fifteen years ago, I wrote a book with the title A World Gone Mad. It covers my life as a child and teen, living as an eight-year-old child through the end of Hitler's reign and sliding into another tyranny and dictatorship: the Russian-occupied East Germany. There came a point where I had to flee to escape Stasi imprisonment. In West Germany, I was alone, without working skills, very poor, and not liked as a refugee. Two years later, I came to the US, and my life began to transform like that of a butterfly. Much I had to unlearn before I could learn to navigate a free world. The US became my haven and heaven.

      After sitting on my story for fifteen years, I gathered my courage to release my writing to the world because I want this land to remain a beacon of freedom.

      Acknowledgments

      I would like to acknowledge Ann Matheson and Jay Jacoby for their extraordinary work in helping me revise my script.

      Prologue

      Somewhere on this earth or in heaven, there are two lakes formed by my tears. One is called the Lake of Infinite Sorrow. Don't bathe in it. It is icy cold and bitter. Then there is another lake, the Lake of Infinite Love. Bathing in it will give you peace and healing, empathy and compassion, and strength and joy. Neither gold nor silver nor diamonds nor all the jewels and treasures in the world can heal you when you are wounded. Only the opening of another soul toward you—like the opening of a precious flower fragrant with fearless, non-clinging love, which just is: so rare, so real, so healing can do that.

      Then there is the beauty of this earth. It can fill us with treasures unimaginable. It can quiet storms of rage, warm our hearts with golden sunshine, and enrich our souls.

      Goethe's Mignon sings, Today, oh today I am so beautiful. Tomorrow, oh tomorrow all will vanish. Should we fear and mourn the tomorrows or cherish and remember today's fragile, transcending beauty?

      This brings me back to the story of the two lakes and the story of my soul's journey.

      Where do I begin? Perhaps at the beginning with the creation of that Lake of Infinite Sorrow.

      Chapter 1

      When I was seven years old, my mother went psychotic. My father had gone to war, World War II, leaving us alone. She, a born Pole, still speaking with a Polish accent in Nazi Germany, felt threatened and very alone. So she acted out.

      This was the scenario and a frequent one: she would send me to the store to buy things, and invariably I would forget one or two items. She would bring out a huge knife and, setting it on my neck, threaten to cut off my head and throw it in the toilet because it was not worth more. Each time, I'd look into her eyes, and I'd believe her and would be terrified and feel worthless and so very alone. Yet I could not tell anyone about it. Deep down, despite all her abusive behavior, I had to protect her. So I created a world I could flee to: a fairy-tale castle with three walls and three courtyards. Most people who entered my world I would receive in my third courtyard, fewer people I let into my second courtyard, and almost no one had entrance to my inner courtyard. Here was a magnificent garden with exotic flowers and trees with golden and silver leaves shining and sparkling in the sun. There were marbled fountains with glittering water and birds bathing in it and singing all day and all night until all my hurt went away. There were also fairies sometimes speaking to me, sometimes not. But that garden kept me sane.

      To the outside world, I was just this dreamy, strange girl who chewed on her sleeves and the end of her braids. There were other abuses, constant berating, and, in her opinion, purposeful beatings to make me a better child.

      If misery became too great, I would flee to my castle and my garden. If there was music around, I would lose myself in it, and I would read. I could never still the hunger for books. I had taught myself to read before going to school,

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