posted on Apr, 21 2016 @ 12:47 AM
June 20, 2015
Dad’s started to look at me funny. He has for the past few days. It makes my skin crawl. I don’t know what’s wrong with him. It’s like
he’s not really there. When I look in his eyes, it’s like something else is looking back at me. I know the alcohol is part of it. I try hiding
the bottles but he always finds them. I dumped them out the other day but it didn’t help. He must have some stashed away because he was drunk
again, worse than ever. Oh, no. I hear him stumbling around and yelling. I have to go see what’s going on.
Later: I think Dad’s having a nervous breakdown. As if being drunk all the time isn’t bad enough, when I went to see what the noise was about I
found him shouting into the mirror. “You can’t have her! She’s mine! She’s all I have left, damn it!” Then he smashed the mirror. I must
have screamed because he turned around. I looked in his eyes and he was back. I hurried and got the first aid kit. He sat in his chair while I
bandaged him. He passed out by the time I was done. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
June 25, 2015
It’s so much worse now. When I went to change Dad’s bandage he put his hand on my shoulder and ran it down my arm. I looked in his eyes and that
thing was there. “My sweet Angel,” he said, “You know I love you, don’t you? Give Dad a hug.” He put his arms around me and rubbed up and
down my back. It made me so uncomfortable. I wanted to pull away but didn’t dare. I don’t know what he would have done. His touch felt like
bugs crawling under my skin. The smell was the worst part. He smells like something that’s died. I took two showers afterward and still I feel
June 30, 2015
Oh, God, he touched me the other day. I don’t know if he meant to do it but he touched my breast. It was just a glancing touch but it made me
feel so dirty and ashamed. He didn’t seem to realize that he did it. The looks he gives me are worse. They make me want to crawl inside myself
and hide. As if that’s not bad enough, I woke up to him sitting on the edge of my bed last night. He didn’t say anything at first. He just
stared at me in the dark. I tried to pretend that I was still asleep. It didn’t fool him. He reached out and ran his hand up and down my side. I
lay there and shivered and tried not to throw up. It was like a corpse touching me. I don’t think there’s anything left of Dad in there because
it talked to me. “Your mom’s with us, Angel. Your dad, too. Soon you’ll be with us as well when we’re ready.” It gave me one last touch
and then left. I have to get out of here.
July 3, 2015
That’s not my father. That’s not my father. Dad would never have done that! I locked the door after that night but it still got in somehow.
It was so much worse this time. He touched me! He touched me in a way no father should touch his daughter. When I tried to fight him off, he hit me
and then he… I can’t, I can’t tell. This ends tonight. I found some gasoline in the garage when he was passed out. I’m ending this
That was the last entry. A week ago in the early hours of the fourth of July, Angela’s house burned down. Nobody made it out alive. The
firefighters found two bodies in the wreckage. I cried for two days. I cried even harder when I got the package. I keep seeing her eyes the last
time I saw her, so haunted. I saw the same thing in mine last night when I looked in the mirror.