it started before i could remember. he would always hit me whenever i did things that he thought were "wrong." such as crying, watching tv, or even going to the bathroom without permission. i would always have bruises all over my body and they would get worse, and i would get more every day. i remember having to hide all of the marks he made on me with make up or long sleeves and pants, even in the summer. it was just beatings for a while. every day i got beaten and even more so when work didnt go well or when he was drunk. i was nine when he started to rape me. i didnt really know what he was doing to me exactly. all i knew was that it hurt. i would always cry when he did it and then he would beat me for crying. it went on like that until i was 15. that was when i got pregnant. but he didnt like that. when he found out that i was pregnant he beat me and kicked me in the stomach until i had a miscarrige. that happened seven more times. i lost a total of eight babies because of him. i hated going to school. i had no friends and i always failed my classes. i only went cause it gave me a reason to leave the house that i shared with him. i was so scared to go home every day. i didnt want to be in that house but i knew that if i didnt come home he would hunt me down and beat me until i was barely alive. it happened before. i was 12 and i wanted to run away. so one day i didnt come home after school and he got his gun and hunted me down. he dragged me into an alley and beat me until i couldnt even stand. he then threatened to shoot me in the head and then dragged me home and proceeded to rape and beat me some more. i wanted an escape so bad that i started to do drugs. it started with weed then went to cocain then to heroin and perscription drugs. i dropped out of school and prostituted myself while i was supposed to be at school so i could pay for my drugs. he continued to beat and rape me every day. i was so sick of it. eventually i stopped fighting and just submitted to whatever he wanted me to do. after 18 years of abuse i was tired. so tired. so i just stopped fighting. i just accepted what happened to me and would just get high to get away. it was when i got pregnant one last time that i had enough. he told me i was a slut and that the baby wasnt his. he tried to kick me out of the house but ended up just beating the shit out of me. i lost that baby too. that was the last straw though. i was done. that night i took an entire bottle of pain killers drank a whole bottle of vodka and shot up some heroin. i immedietly felt myself slipping in and out of conciousness. the last thing i remember is seeing him walk through the door, smile, and get his gun. the last thing i ever saw was the barrel of the gun pointed right at my face and watching him, my own father, after everything that he did to me smile and pull, the trigger.
A/N: I know this is terrible but i felt the need to write it.
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