The Clown Fiesta of VirulentVulpine (AKA Vulp) I don’t know how I’m supposed to write this so uhhhhh let’s just jump right in. Please keep in mind that some parts of this account from me may be incorrect or only half true, as I can only go off of my own memories and what my mother and others have told me. My earliest memories are nice. I think I was around 4 or 5. I remember my Father doing normal things, like reading me bedtime stories, making me pillow forts, and sitting by my bed stroking my hair, and so on. He would go away on business trips every so often, and waiting for him to come home and bring me a new bell (I collected bells) is a prominent memory. I don’t remember anything else. After some time, when I was 6, he started to get angry at things… Mainly his computer, which he worked on. He’d slam things around, break things, and yell. He started throwing my toys and stuff away too. It scared me a lot, and I would hide from him behind the couch or under my bed. He started yelling at my Mother during their arguments, and hitting her too, although my Mother often took him outside or to their bedroom so I wouldn’t see. I remember that one day, after coming home from a business trip; he seemed more upset than usual. He didn’t bring me a bell nor did he smile when he came home. I waited for him at the base of the stairs, happy to see him, and he stepped on my foot with his own booted shoes, crunching my big toes’ nail. He walked up the stairs to his office and I hobbled back to my room to cry. My mother wrapped it in gauze for me later. This was the first time he hurt me. After this, he started hitting me when he got mad. My Mother wasn’t around for most of it at the time. He particularly liked hitting my ribs, the base of my shoulders, and back. This went on for an indefinite period of time. I started to enjoy being in the forest behind my house, because it was peaceful and quiet, and I felt safe and hidden. I think I was around 7 or 8 when he tried to drown me. It was summer, and I was swimming in the pool with him supervising me (I wasn’t allowed to swim without an adult watching). He called me over, so I went to the stairs to climb out of the pool. He grabbed the back of my head and shoved my head under the water, wedging it between two of the steps. This went on for about 25 seconds, although it felt like forever… It was awful. My throat felt like it was being squeezed with a vice, my chest burned so bad I was crying, and I couldn’t scream. He stopped because my Grandmother opened the door to the porch and startled him. I don’t remember what happened after this too well, I think I wrapped a towel around myself and collapsed somewhere in the forest until I felt like going back to my room. My Mother is unaware of this incident. After this, my mental health declined rapidly. I had no desire to eat, because I didn’t want anything in my throat. I no longer wanted to go to school. I felt awful, my body hurt everywhere, my Father still hit me. I remember sitting in my room one night with my Mother, telling her that I wanted to kill myself. She took me to a psychiatrist, I don’t remember much after that. My Father was enraged by this and it made him hurt me more, which just made me feel worse. We got a puppy. Her name is Sugar. I loved her to bits, she made me happy. My Father started kicking her, and this is when my Mother divorced him. It made me sad, because I didn’t understand at the time. I didn’t know why my Mother and Father didn’t love each other anymore. I felt like I had done something wrong. But, I was finally able to start getting the psychiatric help I needed. The psychiatrist prescribed me the first of many medicines I have taken; I have no idea what it was. Probably fluoxetine. It helped with my depression a little. I was still suicidal though, and they sent me to a mental hospital. I actually don’t remember going there at all, which is weird, but my Mother swears I did. Anyways, I don’t remember too much after that so another time skip. I was 12. I visited my Father about twice a week, although I wasn’t allowed to stay the night with him. This is where things started going to even weirder shit. He’d still hurt me when he lost his temper, although it happened less than it did when he lived with me. I was just getting used to wearing bras, and he would often touch or adjust the straps for me. We went to the creek to catch fish and stuff, and after I was soaking wet he took me to his apartment and provided me with a baggy shirt and… No pants. I was confused at the time, since I knew he had pants I could wear, but he told me I couldn’t wear them. So I accepted it and just hung out on the couch next to him until my clothing was dry. Around the same time, he started other stuff. He would make me massage his back and lower body with lotion, shave his back, and would shower and use the bathroom with the door open. He was excessively touchy with me and found excuses to touch my breasts more as I developed. When I was 13 or 14, he started touching me more, sometimes in my nether regions, but I don’t really want to describe it… I’m 16 now, and it’s been a while since I last saw him. He’s pretty mad at me and calls me often, wanting me to visit him. He says he’s lonely and I feel sorry for him. But I have things I need to do. I can’t spend all day in bed because my body hurts from him beating me when I have a plethora of animals that rely on me to care for them, or schoolwork that needs to get done. I don’t think I’ll be seeing him again, but I still like to think he'll have a change of heart. Also, I no longer suffer from depression like I used to and am stable on medication, so don't worry for me on that end. I am not the least bit suicidal nor do I have a desire to harm myself. I got tired halfway through writing this so you can probably tell, but thanks for reading the clown fiesta.