I grew up in a "normal" type of house. Like any, it had its dysfunctions. My dad was an alcoholic and would steal my money—but I just thought that was all normal. We went to a Baptist church, and my dad was actually a deacon at one point. Through different things he stopped going to church, then we started hopping around to different churches. When I was in junior high, one day my dad happened to come in when I was changing to just look at me. It made me feel very uncomfortable, but I thought, oh, this must be normal, it just happens. But after a couple of months, he started to rape me. It happened very frequently—almost every night. As it progressed, it grew more and more violent.
One day my dad took me for a drive. I didn't think anything of it, but when we got to his friend's house, they put me in another room and I was able to see them giving my dad money. It was supposed to be a party. We all started drinking, then they all raped me. My dad held me down while they did it.
Something like that is the biggest betrayal. When my father discarded me and gave me away like that, I felt like I was worth nothing. After all of it was over, he gave me this gold necklace because he said he was so sorry, that he didn't mean to do all this, and he didn't know what happened. I wore that gold necklace almost every day, because I tried to believe him, but things didn't change. It all continued to happen.1