Trigger warning: Before reading this post, be aware that it contains a description of childhood rape and abuse.
While this story was shared anonymously, we have changed all of names in the story to help preserve the anonymity of the storyteller.
Ok, I will say this first, my biological father, was a JERK, so don’t feel bad for him or me really. Ok, It all started when I was 5 and a half. One day, my mom’s phone began to buzz, this was of course, ordinary, but the caller, not so much. My mom began to cry, not at all ordinary, and handed me the phone, after two or three minutes, and saying to the caller, “O.K.” the voice I heard, was familiar, but only like if I had heard it in a dream a long time ago. He said “Hi” in a wispy, not quite there, drunkenish voice, and it alone made me want to slam the phone shut, the voice, was creepily familiar, and
downright scary. I responded the same in a meek voice unusual for me back then, and he said “I’m Eric, I’m your dad” I was shocked, because, I thought my dad was standing next to me, but according to this man, that I did not know, he was not. I called the man that turned out to be my step dad Athair (Ah-her) Daddy in Irish, since I was very Irish, and my little brother’s first words were in Irish. Back to the phone call, I said “No, my Athair is right here” to which the caller responded ” No, whatever that’s supposed to mean,
Cara, I am your father, and I wanted you named prudence, CARA, such an ugly name…” I shot back ” Cara is such a better name, any father of mine would know so.” (Quite diplomatic for a 5 year old, wouldn’t you say) the man laughed a hiccupy laugh, that let me know he was drunk, and he said, ” By law and DNA I’m your dad and you will call me so!” Either he or I hung up, but one of us did, and I threw the phone at the ground, and said “That man was a liar, whoever he was, he sure isn’t Athair!” My mom, and Athair later explained, with lots of sobs, that that man, was indeed my father, Eric, and he had a tabby cat named after me, and connected me to the people I always thought were adopted family like Unkle Liam, or cousin Aiden. But no, they were real kin. It was like a bomb, them trying to explain, tick tick tick, then me finally comprehending, that he was my dad, and I had to “Get to know” the jerk, Beep beep beep beep beepbeepbeepbeep BOOM! It apparently was a legal thing, he had half custody of me, and I did not even know the guy! The next week, he took me on wednesday, and he was even scragglier than I imagined him being. He put me in this old red car, and educated me, via radio on a band called switchfoot, he said my mom hadn’t liked them at first, but now, she loved them near as much as he did. I liked david bowie and the beatles better. O.K Bla bla bla, when am I gonna get past the intro right?!? Alright, already been at his house for two days, realized, this place was not where I wanted to be, when all the food there was, was the following “Captain Crunch, Now with colorful crunch berries!” Alchohol,(That word doesn’t deserve good spelling) Top ramen, and a wired paste in a tube, with a leaf on the front, I hope that’s enough explanation for you (Cough cough mare cough uahna cough cough paste sneeze) yeah, that. He slipped that paste into my food multiple times, which is why I started cooking for myself there at age five, trying not to be curious about why my father kept bleach in the kitchen with the food. There was a large forest out back, that I often escaped to, but that backfired when he locked me in the forest, for a whole week, alone, didn’t come check on me, without food, water, or camping gear for staying out there to long. That week, I survived off of wild mint, basil, blackberries (Very sharp, so not many of those) an river water, there was also a river out back,that on a sunny day, you could see the life buoy, and skelital remains of a human being that had been on some sort of tropical cruise in the 1930’s that I swam across most of the time looking down rarely, because, you know, that’s desturbing, knowing the rest of a ship, and crew compliment, had died here, not just a guy on a life buoy still attached to a ship by a rope and there souls could still lurk. Eric could not swim well, so this was refuge. One day, I will always remember, he stumbled into our uncomfortably shared room, and smiled at me, what I would have called now, lustily. He closed, and locked the door, that I was too short to unlock, closed the window, locked it too, and forcefully removed my clothing, and took his off also. He then used my own clothing to bind me to the bed frame. My black stretch pants went over the my arms and the little poles that came off of the corners , then tied in front of and behind my neck, tight enough I could not move my head or arms. He then tied my feet with my socks to the other two poles. He then… primed himself for entry, of a six year old girl, of course after gagging me with my underwear. The pain of that, made me turn gay after being told I would… do that with a boyfriend, and the knowing they would want to.I tried to scream, but the gag was effective, even if it was made of underwear, I wanted to hit hit hard, get him off of me, and run, but he and taken care or that, by spreading my legs,spread wide, so that he could break so many laws, trusts, and pieces of skin, tied my arms, so I was immobilized. I bled a lot. My urine was mingled with blood for a long time. The pain still haunts me. This is not the lowest point. He constantly told me that I was what kept him alive, when he was on his ups, away from drugs and alchohal, why love was what made living worth it, what gave him a purpose. One day, he asked me, if I would care if he left, died even. Right before, had been another bed incident, so I just shrugged, I did love him, but didn’t want to speak to him then, I should have. The next morning, he was gone, nowhere. When he did get home, it was late, and his face was red. He went to the kitchen, and grabbed his bottle of bleach, instead of boiling it with other things, and making us both drink it, he spilled it all over himself. He squeezed the entire tube of greenish paste into his mouth, and drank a bottle of alchohal, then staggered off to his room my grandma later brought me home, I believe this was his first attempted overdose, about a month later, of me not going back, he died, of intentional overdose, on multiple things. This is not the lowest point. Today, both Athair and mom both live, but mom, has a cancerous tumor in her right lung. I think it’s not long till I lose her. Maybe it was nice to know someone had a worse day than you? I dunno. However, I still strive for my dream, and will work past this, become a wildlife biologist, and forge about my past as I track elephants, and discover new species. Don’t be depressed!!! As my friend annie would say.