14 years ago, I was born. A beautiful baby, I'd say. I had dark blonde hair a deep blue eyes, with a small tint of green. That day was the reason I only have a father. As my mother was giving birth, she started dying. Right after her final push to get me into the world, her heart failed to continue pumping. Life faded from her as life glowed into me. That was the day a psycho was born.

As i grew older, so did the violence from my dad. Once i turned 5 he started giving me "birthday spankings". They hurt like hell and he used a metal spoon each time. For my 5th birthday, i got my birthday spankings and an unlit birthday candle in the shape of a 5. You know what else? He gave me a lighter to light the candle once i could buy myself a birthday cake. I still have it to this day, unlit.

As the years went painfully slow, I began being more immune to pain. He'd kick me while i was on the ground picking items up off of our always dirty floor, punch me while i was on the counter reaching plates, or he'd slap me when I asked for things. Somedays when he heard me taking a shower, he'd go into the tub and feel my body. Sometimes, he would jam his finger up my vagina because he thought it'd feel good to me. No, it absolutely did not! I felt violated in so many ways that it would be merely impossible for me to express it. Not only would he physically damage me, but he would also do it verbally. He'd say I was a worthless bitch, careless asshole, and a whore or slut. I began to believe him as I shut out the real world. I didn't even go to school because he would homeschool me. First he'd give me a lesson on my body parts while we were both naked, then he would show me how to get tougher by hurting me.

Once I was 8, i hit puberty. The good thing was that my period wouldn't start for a few more years, so at least I wouldn't get pregnant. That was when I developed hormones. My emotions hightened, and my depression hit me like a tidal wave. Every mean word he said, every body part he touched, made me so insecure beyond belief. One day while i was using the bathroom, i saw that he had a razor lying by the sink. I began to think of what i could use it for. First, i cut my hair to my shoulders, then i cut my wrist. One cut. Then i washed off my wrist and the razor so he wouldn't find out.

I remember this one scarring event that happened on my 9th birthday. No spankings this time, but something worse. He raped me. At around 7 or 8 PM that night, he tore off my clothing and undressed himself. He grabbed me by the arms and threw me onto his bed, sticking his dick into me. That shit hurt for my first time. By the time that was over with, there was blood dripping out of me onto his bed, through his sheets, staining the mattress. My vagina is still sore from that day.

Once i hit age 10, i started my period. Scared the living shit out of me. I didn't go to school, and i had no mother. I had no clue what was happening to me. My dad gave me pads and told me how to put them on and gave me a book all about periods. That was the day i quit cutting my wrists. I know it's a stupid reason, but i figured since i bled from that every month, I didn't need a reason to cut. A period was enough pain anyways. When my dad had found out about my period, he started giving oral and anal. I'd give him hand jobs and blow jobs while he'd eat me out. Was it called a 69? I've done that over 20 times so far in my life.

Ah, the ages 11 and 12. Those were the years before i was a teen. The best years of my life. My dad had bought me a laptop, MP3 player, and a few CD's. The only price was to give him a hand job once a day for 2 months. Pretty cheap, if you're in my situation. I know, I'm a retarded whore. I should've called the police, child services, suicide, blah blah blah. He was my father, and it's not like he would break my bones or keep me locked up in the basement. I had a friend. I got to see her almost every day, and he would be nice to me whenever she was over. He fed me, so it's not like he starved me. Actual food, though. Not stale crackers or moldy bread.

At age 13, I got my first birthday cake. It had little icing flowers and a sentence that read: "Happy birthday, darling Rosalie." It was nice of him, and i actually hugged him for my first time. I also got to watch horror films for my first time. They were so thrilling, and amazing. It got to the point that I would watch every single one that would come out at the movie theaters or were on sale at the store. I had dreams at night where I'd go around killing people, abusing them. My earlier days and these movies mixed together made me have a tingling feeling of wanting to kill.

I'm 14 now, and it's gotten to where me and my dad would make out. Every night. I would refuse, but it'll only make me face more problems. Some nights he'd slip on a condom and it'd get very sexual, but i was used to it. I haven't ever known it was bad, he honestly had me believing it was a good thing. Then it hit me. While i was on the internet looking at things, I read an article about sexual abuse. It described everything that happens to me everyday. After reading more about it, I got a headache. My mind was racing, and i started thinking about murder. It was time to murder my dad.

I grabbed a butcher knife from the kitchen and snuck up behind my father.

"Guess who." I said as he turned around and I stabbed him right in the stomach. I smiled at him, and my eyes lit up as he fell in pain.

"H-h-how c-c-could y-you?" He stammered as i bent down next to his ear.

"Go to hell, you fucking bastard!" I yelled into his ear as i stabbed him right into his temple.