I was 8 when it started. My daddy, the most important person in the world to me, would come into my room at night. Drunk and most likely stoned (I knew my daddy smoked weed) he would creep into my room and finger me or perform oral sex on me. He was my hero and I used to say how if he died I would jump into the coffin with him. I always thought he thought he was with my step-mother, he was just to drunk to know. I never cried while it happened. I would act like I was asleep and I would try to push him off or to fight him, but we all know that doesn’t work. Around when I was 10 I actually ran from him and called the police, but daddy wasn’t far behind me and hung up on the operator. The next morning the police showed up asking who had called and why. I wanted so badly to tell them why but I couldn’t. When I was 11 I was on a camping trip with my best friend Stephanie. While we were walking around the campground we were talking really deeply when I told her about daddy. At that moment she revealed that her brother had done similar things to her. We then thought if we tell her parents maybe they could adopt me. He was also physically abusing my older brother and me. I remember my brother having black eyes and fights so fierce we wound up in the front yard beating the sh*t out of each other. But like I was saying, the whole time from 8 to 12 he would come in at least 3 nights a week and molest me. No screams, crying, I would bite and kick and resist. At 12 I started to think, “What if I became pregnant with my fathers baby?” Granted he still hadn’t gone that far and I hadn’t started my period but I knew it was coming soon. So I made a pact or a promise to myself that next time it would not happen. So when he came to do it again I was awake and waiting. He just told me good night, kissed me on my forehead, and left. I called my friend Stephanie and told her about my promise and I told her I would be there in about 30 minutes and asked if she could meet me. I made my bed and wrote my daddy a letter saying that I would rather run away then ever let him touch me like that again. When I met up with Stephanie we talked about the possibilities. Finally it came down to me making one call to the local sheriff’s department. I was so surprised how quick they showed up, but also how many were there. I swear at least 10-15 different patrol cars came through. They asked for my story, tried to calm me down, and tried to figure where I would go. First, I was taken to an abuse center and examined. Then, they took me to the county Juvenile detention center. I was in there associating with the female inmates for the next three days until my biological mother’s parents came and got me. But the thing is I never have nightmares or emotional breakdowns. I hurt when I think about the memories and I still talk to my dad I just can’t ever forgive him. I’m 18 now and I live with my boyfriend. It’s really hard to talk about and some of my family members will never forgive me for bringing the truth out. But I know in my heart what I did was right and what he did was truly wrong. He still hasn’t said sorry.

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