Dear Friend,
I think to fully understand this crazy messed up concept that is my life, you would need to know the whole thing. So I'll start at the beginning.
I was four years old. My mother and father had just gotten a divorce and so I now only saw him on the weekends, if he was sober enough. My dad, is an alcoholic, and a horrid one at that. When I would go over to see him, the evening would start out fine, my dad, my big brother Kyle, and myself would all pile into my dad's old pickup truck, and we would drive to the Carrs safeway for the Chinese take-out. On the way back we would occasionally stop at the liqour store across the street. Like i said, my dad was an alcoholic. Once at home, we'd settle in for a movie, and at this point in time my father was almost always drunk, hungover, or high. I'm sure he had no idea that i noticed, afterall, I was just a four year old. and at first, I didnt. But as time passed, I began to see little trademarks that signified my dad's...condition.
At age seven, I had already seen Preadetor vs. Alien, The Grimm: unrated version, and all of the original James Bond series,with sex scenes that left little to the imagination. Dad didn't know about me watching them, he fell asleep at the opening credits more often than not. My brother Kyle is still an asshole to me so he naturally didn't give a shit about me or what i did. He did know I watched these films though, because before i turned eight, I was locked in the basement with the warning "Better be careful, or the Grimm will get you too!" The. Whole. Freaking. Night. i had to sleep in the crawlspace. Which, at my father's house, is just a concrete hole in the wall, with mice that live in the insolation and spiders that are as big as your hand. Oh, and did i mention that spiders scare the living shit out of me? Well they do. still. Could be the being pinned down and have spiders be put down your clothing and on your face that made me have this wild phobia, but seeing the little monsters still sends shivers down my spine, and screams out my mouth.
At age eight, I had been pushed down more staircases than I could count, and had so many scars on my back from being used as a target I could no longer wear tank tops. I still can't wear tank tops come to think of it. My father, being the unmarried perverted bastard he is also made me sleep with him. Could be the fact that physically, I matured very quickly. i had breats and a butt in the third grade. I also knew how to shower by myself when i was younger, which my father never seemed to understand. I could bathe and dry myself perfectly fine, I tried to tell him, but he insisted on doing it himself. i also had pajamas and a bed that fit me perfectly fine, but he always seemed to like it better, when I slept with him. Naked. What can I say, my father was a perverted son of a bitch.
