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My name is Kristeen. I’ve been through a lot. I was born and raised in the state of Nevada. Both my parents were addicted to Methamphetamine, and I grew up around drugs. My father left me after I was born and I lived with my disabled mother. My mom gave me up for drugs, and I was lost for a long time. I ended up moving in with my Dad and step mom, along with my two step brothers. I had an amazing life during this point. I had all the flowers I could pick, and all the butterflies I could catch. But, everything changed, one day it took a dramatic spiral downward. My dad got in a car crash and developed a minor brain injury, he stopped bringing in money. Night after night they would argue. Night after night I’d lay curled up crying, wondering if it would ever stop, wondering when he would snap. Finally my step mom had enough. She left. She left and took my three brothers with her, leaving behind an innocent girl to be controlled by a monster. He was filled with rage and sadness. I was filled with fear. He would drink until he couldn’t speak, until he couldn’t remember. He drank away his pain, and all I could do was watch. Night after night he drank more until finally he snapped. He came at me with an open hand, the eyes that stared down at me were no longer empty, something burned behind them, a small flame of anger and hate. Hate to the world, hate toward himself, and the only one left to aim the hate towards, was his daughter. He demanded I laid down with an aggressive tone, I dared not disobey. I don’t think I had ever been so filled with fear in my life. So I laid there with my eyes shut tight, refusing to see just what was being done to me. That was the night I lost my innocence, that was the night I lost all faith in God. That was the night I lost everything. I became empty, hollow. All I could feel was fear. I was ruled and consumed by it. It was my life. Sometimes, there would be good days, where I thought I could begin to feel again. Days when my dad went back to being my dad. I had hope that it had changed. But time after time it didn’t. All I could think was will tonight be a good night, or will I be covered in bruises by sunrise? Each time it progressed and got worse. I could feel shadows haunting my footsteps. It was like I had an anchor tied around my feet dragging me down under this undeniable reality. I had no one to turn to for help, there was no one to hear my screams. The only one that was there for me was a razor. I will never forget the night I tried to take my life, or how the razor glistened in the pale moonlight. Or the feeling, or that sigh of relief as I watched the blood trickle down my arm. All I could think was “This is it. I’m finally free.” But I wasn’t, I was saved, or rather condemned. I couldn’t help think, why was the Lord so cruel? What had I done to deserve this fate, why was I living this nightmare. That was the day I swore never to speak of Him again, never to send another prayer, that was the day I lost my will. As soon as I was out of the hospital thing returned to the way they were. I starved. My dad spent all his money just to toke up and get high. I hurt. Every strike across my face leaving marks on my skin and my soul. Every single touch burned me to the core. Every night, I lost another piece of myself, and I couldn’t escape. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t find my voice. I wanted to cry, but I had no tears left to shed. I wanted so bad to run, but I had no more strength. Everything I had was gone. I couldn’t tell anyone because I was scared. He told me, he promised me, that if I uttered a word, if I even though of telling anyone, I would never see another person again, I would never leave the house. So night after night this monster, once a man would tower over me, and I would cower, with nothing else to do. I began coping with my music, I played violin since I was eight and used that to soothe my pain, I poured everything I had left into my music. I began painting my escapes, painting better places where I didn’t have to hurt, where there weren’t monsters in the shadows or under your bed. I also painted my reality. I painted my past that clawed at me, waiting for me to break so I would be devoured. I gave in I gave up, I let them tear me apart, it didn’t matter, I didn’t feel the pain, I felt nothing anymore. My dad always used to whisper during the darkest part of the night while I laid exposed in the dim light unable to cry. He’d whisper “You’re so beautiful. I love you so much. You taste as sweet as you look.” Sometimes it would be worse, he’d call me “Daddy’s little slut” or he’d say “Look at you just laying there, I bet you want this, I bet you’ve been waiting for this all day” It disgusted me. My vision of love was shattered. Over the years I learned what love really was. It makes you weak, breaks you down. It will suffocate you and drag you to your grave. Perhaps if some part of me didn’t love him I would’ve found the strength to stop him. But some part of me wanted to believe that tomorrow would be different, that maybe tomorrow he would change. But I was the one that began to change. I had hate burning in my eyes just like my dad. I began to embrace the monsters instead of fighting them off. I became them, I let them control me. And they began devouring me from the inside out, tearing me up inside and screaming to be let out. I remember looking in the mirror one day and staring in my eyes. What I saw there shook me to the core. What I saw was my dad. His eyes. The same hate. And for once in a long time, I felt something. I began to feel fear again. Not fear of my dad, fear of myself.