731 Days

Dear Father,

It’s been two years.

Two years since my voice was louder than yours, to the point you were officially silenced.

Two long years of my highest highs and lowest lows.

Some days felt like I was drowning and I was suffocating with every breath I would take, as if water were flooding my lungs.

There were days I was drowning in the tears that my pillow no longer could absorb.

Moments when your breakdown at trial played like a broken record within my mind—that I was tragically stuck in.

Then there were days when I lost my voice from the endless laughs I shared with those around me.

Moments when I was so lost in happiness, that I forgot my past had even existed.

Days when I was the survivor and no longer the victim.

A lot can happen within two years.

I was stuck in an endless cycle of self-destruction that I almost felt the need to throw in the towel and call it a loss.

However, the only person that could potentially help, was you.

If I were to have called it quits, nobody would’ve been able to hear my story and how you were the devil in disguise.

So I stayed.

I stayed long enough to find the courage to share my story with the world, not even phased if nobody would listen.

Yet, they did.

Strangers off the internet now know more than just my name.

They know my name, story, and my strength that I worked hard for.

I can’t imagine how it could be like in a cold, brick building, where you’re practically living on repeat for eight years.

However, I hope it’s painful.

I hope it gets to you.

I hope it creeps into your dreams and keeps you awake at night, wondering if people know what you did.

I hope you understand the fear that you left me feeling, when I was just a ten year old child.

I was holding onto my baby blanket, praying to the universe that you would pass out drunk, instead of sneaking into your child’s bedroom to gain pleasure.

You made me believe that all fathers were evil.

You made me believe that all men were the same and could never be trusted.

Then I met my husband.

A man who made me realize that you were truly just a monster and that it takes an insane person to do the things you did.

You had a wife who wanted you in every way possible, emotionally and physically.

Yet you looked at your own child, someone you created, and decided that was what you wanted more.

Despite her cries, whimpers, and visible pain.

Within two years, I stopped feeling sorry for you and where you ended up.

I started giving myself a round of applause for not only saving myself, but your future victims as well.

You were once an Army soldier who was fighting for this country, now you’re a registered sex offender, fighting your own consequences.

I have blossomed into the woman I was destined to be, but I’m far from being done.

This is just my beginning.

While you’re nearing your ending.

It used to pain me knowing I had practically put you into a life sentence.

Now I remind myself that you’ll know exactly how I feel.

Although I have grown stronger, I will always be a victim at your hands. No matter how hard I fight, the flashbacks crowd my mind.

It’s an endless cycle that nobody can begin to break.

However, it’ll never break me again.

You took the innocence of my childhood and you took the girl I once was.

I had to learn how to walk, talk, and breathe again.

731 days ago, I stripped you of everything you thought you were and showed the world your true colors.

You were never a hero, you were just a villain who hadn’t been caught.

Now here I stand.

My voice echoing through the world and beginning my beautiful journey of life.

No thanks to you.

I once asked myself, “what are you supposed to do when the person who is supposed to protect you from the harm in the world, is the one causing you the harm?”

You fight like hell and you never look back.

You know nothing about me and the strength I have.

You only know the ten year old who was afraid of her own father.

You know the girl who starved herself, in hopes of it killing her.

That’s not who I am anymore.

I was once a victim, but never again.

Sincerely,

A damn strong survivor.

Published by nolanareann

I’m a nineteen year old who has a passion for this world. I believe writing is a way to express genuine issues that us as a society, are blind towards.

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