He Stole My Childhood — And My Whole Life

The story of a childhood friend of mine who was raped by her father

I always knew my dad was weird towards me, but I didn’t think too much about it till I was 12. I knew he loved me a lot and gave me so much attention, but I always thought it was because I was the only child.

I was a typical daddy’s girl. He took me everywhere he went, gave me everything I asked for, no matter how stupid and selfish it was. Everyone knew I was the apple of my father’s eyes, but they didn’t know how twisted those eyes were — I didn’t too.

The first time he behaved inappropriately with me was when I was 12. It was my birthday, and as usual, I was looking forward to the gift he had for me — his gift was the fanciest. As we did every year, he left clues to find my gift but the last clue of the birthday treasure hunt led to his room. I searched for my gift everywhere in his room, but I couldn’t find it. When I became frustrated, I ran downstairs to persuade him to put me out of my misery and give me the gift. He agreed without much persuasion and asked me to follow him — It was almost like he knew I wouldn’t find it.

As we entered the room, he shut the door behind him. He walked to the wardrobe, opened a cabinet I didn’t know existed, and brought out my gift. It was a Nokia 5310 XpressMusic phone. I was so elated! I had been begging my parents for a phone since I entered Senior Secondary School. My mum thought it was too early for me to have a phone, but trust my father to give me anything I wanted. Out of excitement, I jumped and hugged him. He held the hug for longer than I planned and started caressing my back. I felt weird, broke the hug, and ran downstairs.

I brushed that event off and didn’t think to tell anyone.

”It’s normal for fathers to hug and caress their daughter’s back,” I said to myself.

The second time was when I was 14. He came to my room to wake me up in the middle of the night. He put his hand up my nightgown and started caressing my bareback again. I didn’t run away this time because I felt it was normal — maybe it was his way of showing affection.

It became weird when he started reaching further and casually brushed my side boob. I thought it was an accident again, but he let his hand linger there. He started caressing my boob from the side and breathing heavily. I felt weird and tried to move, but he held me in place. He started whispering something about me growing up into a beautiful woman with a beautiful body.

I became very uncomfortable and flinched again. This time he let me go. He removed his hand from under my nightgown, patted my butt, and leaned in.

“Don’t tell your Mummy about this unless Daddy won’t be happy with you,” He whispered and left.

“Daddy won’t be happy with you” was enough to keep me quiet — I was a daddy’s girl and didn’t want to fall from his grace. Who would defend me and buy me anything I wanted?

The coming to my room at night to caress me became more frequent. He graduated from the side boob to my nipples and from patting my butt to grabbing them. I started wearing a bra to bed, thinking it would deter him but it didn’t — he would take off the bra. Even panties, he would pull them down to grab my bare butt.

He also graduated from scaring me with “Daddy won’t be happy with you” to “Don’t tell Mummy. She probably won’t believe you” and buying me gifts the next day. He was right about my mum probably not believing me; she was a hard nut to crack, and she was hardly ever around — that’s a story for another day.

The first time he raped me was when I was 15. My mum had traveled, and it was just both of us at home. He did the usual come into my room and caressed my body, but he didn’t stop there. He penetrated me that night.

To date, it’s the worst night of my life. I was a virgin at the time, so it hurt real bad — Yep! My father deflowered me.

This continued anytime my mum traveled, and each time he raped me, I would pray for death to come or some superhero to come and save me. Gratefully, I got into college 18 months later and left my father’s house.

My childhood was a very traumatic one — I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. And this trauma followed me right to my adulthood. I’m 26, and I still can’t successfully pull off a sexual relationship. The images keep flashing back, especially whenever I’m with a man. No matter how gentle he may be, it always feels like it’s my dad all over again.

Asides from sexual relationships, I also find it hard to make and keep friends. Once they are getting too close, I run so that they won’t discover how much of a mess I am and a messed-up story I have.

Psst…I could sit here for hours telling you all the ways my childhood has affected my entire life negatively, but I’ll spare you the horrific details.

What I wished for the most in those moments was someone to talk to. I wish my mum didn’t push me so far away; I’d probably have been more comfortable to tell her. It always felt like she didn’t like me — like I took her husband’s love away from her.

What I’d like now is to heal completely. I want to be able to be with men and not feel like it’s my dad. I want to be able to keep opposite-sex relationships without thinking that they all want to get into my pants. I want to sleep and not dream of my father in my room. I want these images to go away forever!

Basically, I want a new life — a clean slate and a trauma-less life. I want a rebirth — a rebirth from my ruins.

Thanks for reading.