I’m wandering in circles mentally wondering why, why, why am I so crazy.

Well, maybe it’s time to

He wasn’t in my earliest memories, those are of Brittney and my sister, for whatever reason. But I remember him from when I was very young. He was so big and imposing and always angry. I was torn between being afraid of him and desperately wanting his love and attention. I remember his big, full, bushy beard. I actually think those memories are why I hated facial hair with such a vengeance for most of my life.

I remember, I was about 5 or 6. He was coming to pick my brother(s)–I don’t know if both of them lived with mom or just Tommy. They were going to the amusement park, I seem to recall Knott’s Berry Farm. I wanted to go so badly, but I was little and me going meant that not everyone could go on every ride. Someone would have to sit out the big rides with me. He asked me, “What will you do for me if I take you?” I remember feeling confused and lost. I had nothing he might want… But he huffily agreed and took me. I remember sitting out one of the rides with him–I was excited just to be there and I liked seeing my big brothers on the ride. He said, “Here, this is what you can do for me,” and he pulled me onto his lap. I always wore dresses and I could feel him playing with ‘down there’. I remember feeling shock and confusion. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t really understand why he wanted to do that. It was kind of uncomfortable, but kind of felt nice too. I didn’t ask him to stop and I don’t think I even wanted him to. I still feel ashamed.

Eventually my brothers came and found us and we went around the rest of the park. I don’t remember much more from that day other than him frequently yelling and being very harsh. I couldn’t understand what I was doing wrong. I felt like there was something he was mad at me for but I couldn’t understand what.

I didn’t see him very often. I don’t know if there was a big gap before I saw him again or if I just feel like there was. My next clear memory of him was when I was 8 or 9. We were driving in his truck. It was night. I’m not sure where we were going. He told me a joke, “Charlie Brown and Lucy were walking along one day and they decided to show one another their (my memory is fuzzy, something to the effect of ‘bits’). Charlie Brown told Lucy that he had ‘one of these’ and ‘one of these’ was way better than what she had. Lucy said, ‘Yeah, but with what I have I can get way more of those than you will ever have.” This joke was told with him pulling my hand into his crotch to feel his hard on and him grabbing my crotch. I remember laughing very uncomfortably.

Then I remember being at his house. I was in the same age range, 8-9. He gave me a milkshake that tasted funny and made my tummy hurt. I surmise that it was spiked with something. After drinking it I didn’t feel good and wanted to go to bed. I thought I would be sleeping in my brother Jimmy’s room, but he told me no–I was to sleep with him. He gave me a t-shirt to sleep in; I don’t know why I didn’t have jammies with me. When I tried to climb into bed with my underwear on he told me to take them off because it was better for me to sleep with no underwear. I didn’t really question. This was long before I was sassy and I wanted his approval and love and attention so bad I could taste it. I know that I had to beg my mom for this visit because she didn’t want me to go. She gave in after a lot of pressure. He was naked when he climbed into bed with me. I can remember stiffening up and knowing that something was wrong but I didnt really know what or understand why. He spooned me from behind. I can remember the feeling of his cock against my ass. I can remember that his left arm was on the bottom and he wrapped it around my body, under my head, so that he could rest his hand where my breasts would have been if I had been old enough to have any. I remember his right hand was at first on my hip, but then it… started creeping. He started playing with my outer labia and I could feel myself shaking. I pulled away violently to run to the bathroom and throw up. After the first volley I crept from the bathroom to where the cordless phone was and brought it back to the bathroom and called my mom. I begged her to please come get me. I told her I was sick, please mommy, please come take me home. She told me that I had made my bed now I had to lie in it. I slept fitfully on the floor of the bathroom. Every sound woke me up with a start and in a panic.

Come the morning I told him I wanted to go home because I was sick. He tried very hard to talk me out of it. First he offered what were basically bribes. Then he stepped up to threats. I just cried and said over and over and over that I wanted to go home. He drove me home and the whole time he repeatedly told me what a worthless, ungrateful, stupid bitch I was. I believed him–but I couldn’t stay. When I got home and told my mom and my sister what he had been saying to me, when I chokingly, haltingly, pathetically stuttered out what he had been saying to me, my sister asked me what else I had expected. Now I understand that she had been dealing with that treatment all of her life, but I didn’t understand that then and I hadn’t really experienced much of it. I never stayed with him again.

When I was about 12 he came to visit us in Apple Valley. I think we were all going to spend the day with Tommy doing something. I wasn’t ready when he arrived so I went upstairs to get dressed. He followed me up just a few minutes later, in plenty of time to catch me with no shirt on. He came up behind me in front of a mirror and felt my chest. He told me that I was going to have large breasts–he could tell cause he had plenty of experience. Now I wonder if he meant feeling up 12 year old girls who later ended up with large breasts.

I saw him at Jimmy’s wedding when I was 13. Otherwise there were just sporadic phone calls. Then, when I was 16, I called him and told him I needed a computer for school. I was in AP classes and I needed to be able to type papers and do research–would he buy me one? He told me that I could have one if I came down and spent a weekend with him. I said I would need to check with mom and see when she would be able to get a weekend off from work so she could go with me. He told me no, that I had to come by myself or forget it. I hung up the phone and called the Sheriff’s department and asked how I went about reporting my father for molesting me. The next few months were awful. .

See, he confessed. As in, corroborated every story I told the police and gave them additional details and what I heard from the officer in charge of our case made me believe that there were things I couldn’t remember. He was on suicide watch while in jail because they thought he was batshit crazy and in immediate danger of killing himself. He raised bail though–that’s when he started stalking us. He was ‘around’ just out of distance of it being provable. But we could see him. We moved back up to the bay area to get away from him. Those kinds of trials take a long time to happen though. In the meantime I was working full time and trying to not think about it. I wasn’t sure what to do about high school. Then Tommy killed himself. For those who don’t know, my brother didn’t do something tame like hanging himself or jumping off a building. No, he went on a walk to a local gas station and bought a container and filled it with gas. On his way back towards where he lived he stopped behind a mini-mall type of thing and doused himself and then set himself on fire. It didn’t actually kill him. They put him out with 85% of his body burned, but he was still alive. That boy had the strongest body I have ever seen or heard of. My father was a bigger pussy and just locked himself in the garage with the motor running the morning his trial was to begin. He left notes explaining to everyone and their dog that I was a liar and everything was my fault.

And my mom believes that I prosecuted my father out of pettiness cause he wouldn’t buy me a computer. And my sister yells at me that she didn’t destroy our family just because she was molested.

Every so often I have these moments of clarity, I sort of think of them as God leaning down and kissing my forehead. In those moments I know that none of it was my fault. In those moments I know that I am a good person and that I didn’t do anything wrong and I don’t deserve what happened to me. I wish that God loved me enough to kiss me more. Instead, I usually feel like these things wouldn’t have happened to me if I weren’t so inherently bad. If I had any value other than sex then he would have seen it and loved me and not hurt me. Most of the time I feel like that stupid, ungrateful, worthless bitch.