I really began to think where my life went wrong. As I looked at my life
for those 15 years I spent living in that hell on earth as I now referred to it years later. I realized I had a few choices really;

1. Kill myself; I really came close several times over fifteen years I spent with my undeserving parents and brother.

2. Leave and never look back. I chose option 2.

I remember those days following my first brutal assault by my father. I was completely scared and had no idea where I was going to turn to as I had no choice. I had to follow there every word and instruction or I knew I was going to be beaten and beaten badly.

One evening after I had done my chores in the barn and my homework was finished, I was falling asleep when I heard my door open ever so lightly and in walked my brother who was two
years younger than me.

He walked so carefully to my bed and covered my mouth with his hand and started to punch me in the stomach and face. He whispered names in disgust to me. Some of those names were freak, sissy, homo, loser, etc...

After he physically assaulted me, he left, in the middle of the night my door once again opened and in strode my dad. He pulled down the covers and slid into my tiny bed and proceeded to touch me. I knew he had been drinking as the foul stench was evident.

I had no idea where my mother was, nor did I seem to want to know. My father slapped me a few times and told me to keep quiet. I was so scared that I did keep quiet and was shaking so bad that I was literally quivering.

My father raped me that first night so badly that I walked very funny for three days afterwards. When my mother asked me why I was walking funny I just told her I fell and hurt myself. She did not even pursue this line of
inquiry.

My daily punishment after school was short skirts or dresses and I had to do my chores in those clothes and cook dinner after those chores were done.

I should give you an idea where I grew up so that you have an idea of the area. I grew up in rural Canada , small town actually. The idea of small towns was that everyone knew what everyone was doing at all times except for the awful secrets that lay behind closed doors.

I went to church every Sunday and God forbid if you mentioned anything out of the ordinary. The whole town would know in a matter of seconds. The party line was very useful, back then, where every kid knew the party locations, whom was dating whom etc.

My little secret never materialized as I was so scared and frightened of the repercussions. I kept my mouth shut and did what I needed to do. I hated my life for those 15 years I spent there on that farm. The abuse that continued, the humiliation I
endured.

The constant beatings and continuous rapes by my father and eventually my brother joined the routine as did his select friends. My mother ignored all this and would call any bad behavior to my father when I did or didn't.

I look back years later; I realized that she must be ill to think that everything was normal. I prayed that I would never feel that wrath of my fathers whip, nor the bridle with neither the reins, nor the cinch that was attached to the blanket before the saddle was on the horse.

My escape when I could was my horse “Misty”, she could run like the wind and was my best friend, confidant, my soul mate. At age 7 through 14, she was all that I had that gave me unconditional love and acceptance.

I made or had very few friends while existing on the farm. I had little to do with the neighbors kids on weekends. My escape was “Misty”, we barrel raced every chance I had. I would set up bales in the
field and race till we got good enough to compete.

I loved that escape, the freedom that existed. I will cherish those good memories while there as they seemed to grant my serenity.

Over the course of months of abuse and rapes, I wondered if I should kill myself and or escape. My thoughts always centered on ending my life and I began to contemplate those harsh thoughts.

I had no real friends, no real association with those I could trust. I began to feel isolated and very frightened every time I was looked at by everyone. I hated life and I so much wanted to end it so badly that I wrote my thoughts and feelings every night and every opportunity in my journal.