Anonymous Story: Dear Stepfather

Anonymous Story: Dear Stepfather

Dear Stepfather,
Every day I think about what you did to me. Every day it haunts me. Every day is a struggle to get through, knowing my mother defends you. Knowing you don’t belong here and yet she defends you from every little fleck of dust that comes your way. It hurts knowing I tried to tell her and she simply says “he would never do that” and that’s the end of it.

My mother doesn’t care. You don’t care. You pretend to care. You ask me “did you have a nightmare?” on nights when I woke up to you raping me when I don’t act any different. You try and touch my shoulder when I wake up to you holding my legs apart. You took EVERYTHING away from me. My sense of self. My security. My virginity. You took it all away. I hope you’re proud of yourself.

Remember when you got me addicted to alcohol? I drank every damn day. I wanted to forget what you were doing to me. And then you snuck something into me. And you raped me. And I thought I was pregnant because my period was late. And I was ready. I was ready to just end it. I just wanted to end it all. I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to carry your disgusting filth in me. I was tainted. And like hell was I going to live with that. With you. But I wasn’t pregnant. And that was the happiest day of my life. And it was the last straw. I began to find myself ugly. I always did, but now I was disgusting. Vile. Ugly. Broken.

And you know, every night I ask whatever universe or god is out there to take you out of this world as violently as it possibly can. You deserve that much. You deserve to feel what I felt. Unhappy. Unloved. Unseen. You deserve the worst pain imaginable. You’ve already taken everything away from me. You made me believe I wasn’t a lesbian before I came out. You made me not be able to trust my girlfriend. You made me feel like I was like this because of you. You raped me because of that, didn’t you? I hate you. I hate everything about you. I wish you were dead every single day.

And one day I’m gonna get better. I won’t have you and your stupid “doctors are stupid” mentality to stop me from getting a psychiatrist. I won’t have any of you standing in my way. I’m going to get help, get better, my cuts will heal, and I’m going to be okay. I’m going to live a life with my girlfriend and I’ll be okay. I can only hope that you know you’re unloved and unwanted by the time you die. That’s all I want. I want you to just get out of my life, go somewhere where you can’t hide behind your veteran status or your own trauma.

You don’t deserve to be the father of my little brother. If it were up to me, you’d be long gone by now. My whole family would split apart, sure. I’d get told it was my fault anyways. That I’m a d*ke and useless and that I “wanted it” even though I wear giant sweaters and long baggy pants and sleep with two giant blankets wrapped up at night. Sure. Wanted it.

Anyways. I hope you die soon. And I hope you suffer when you do, knowing no one is coming to help you. I hope you die alone. Truly alone.

Sincerely, your first and last victim.

Author

WYR

WYR

When You're Ready.org is a community for survivors of sexual violence to share their stories.

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