About 10 years and a week ago, little baby me peed onto a strip. The color changed, and my, then girlfriend, ex told me that meant I was pregnant. I was dating a girl, so I obviously wasn't carrying her kid. I remember just blankly staring at the strip, wondering why this was happening. I'd gone through years of emotional abuse, neglect, being beaten by my siblings, being bullied horribly, but those only ruined my mind. Sexual abuse was going to ruin my life.

At fourteen years, 11 months, and one week, I remember feeling like all of my blood rushed out from me onto the floor in that movie theater bathroom. I remember seeing my normally pinky pale face reflected almost paper white, and my fingers shaking violently as I pinched the little strip my ex told me confirmed my worst fucking nightmare. The huge mirror seemed to warp, changing me from just chubby to massively pregnant, and I remember the floor feeling like it was being yanked out from under me.

I remember stopping outside a Cumberland Farms on my way home, handing over my cash to my girlfriend's friend and begging her to get me a pack of Marlboro Red's, then staring blankly into the side mirror, just watching myself as I felt so many emotions that I stopped feeling. Time seemed to swim, staring at myself both taking hours and simultaneously seconds, until a knock on the door next to me broke my trance. She threw me some shitty cigarettes, less than half the price of the ones I wanted, but that was fine. I didn't even notice she kept the change, instead using the car lighter to light one of the cigarettes. It tasted like what stale piss smells like, and I remember hacking and spitting trying to keep the taste from settling in my mouth, but chain smoking half the pack anyway.

I remember asking to stay with my best friend. Her mom knew, and her mom is an absolute angel. I remember staring into space a lot, just thinking, and wide swathes of blankness.

I remember my best friend's mom calling mine to meet us at a park her brother owns. I sat in a chair, staring at the table like it held all of the answers to life if I could just crack the code of the wood grain. I remember my best friend's mom explaining, and how hard it punched my mother in her gut. The sound of her voice cracking as she asked "Daddy"" to me, asking if he had done this to me, will always be burned into my mind. She left, and all I remember is her trying not to cry.

At some point, the timeline's very fuzzy for me, I remember sitting in a handicapped stall, pregnancy test my best friend bought me sitting on the sink, and just waiting. I remember wanting to vomit but choking it down, the 3 minute hold time stretching into eternity. It never changed though, and I remember being so relieved about that but also being horrified. It was like some theoretical baby had been killed, even if I didn't want to have a child when I was still a baby myself.

I remember being called down to the social worker's office, some waif of an ancient woman, and plinking together X's and O's on a magnetic base as I confirmed about my father. I remember feeling like it was all some fucked up dream, and my fingers barely clinking together the shapes like someone else was trying and failing to pilot my body.

I remember the day everything changed. It was dark out still, with the only light in the living room I was sleeping in coming from the single light on in the kitchen and the alarm clock next to me. It was too early, and I didn't know what was going on. It was a school day, and I remember hearing my best friend's mom talking quietly, then the strangest thing, my maternal grandparents answering. I saw my mom, but she didn't speak, just gestured for me to get up. I remember the biting cold of the metal frame of the sofa bed burning me as I sat, trying to force myself up, then flashes of me hugging my best friend's mom, seeing my grandparents, then being in their car as we drove home. I remember parking on the lawn and people being in my house. People kept apologizing, but I was numb. I just remember sitting on the couch, then blankly staring ahead. Then blanks for days, with the knowledge that my abuser killed himself vaguely sinking in. I remember forcing my mother to eat pasta I made with meat sauce, feeling like I was responsible for her rather than my mother helping me not fall apart. She lost her husband, but I lost a rapist, an abuser, and a father.

I remember being roped into using limewire to get the songs for his funeral. Me, the one kid of his actually severely affected, being forced to set aside my trauma. I remember almost tackling her when she asked "Would the song There was always love in daddy's hands" not be okay for you?"

I remember staying outside for most of the funeral and trying to joke around, just to feel something. It felt like I was both empty inside and way too fucking full, simultaneously. Like the pressure inside would explode me if I just let it.

My paternal grandfather died soon after, and his attempt to sexually assault me wasn't talked about. I didn't have anyone to talk to about it, so I just left that to fester too.

I don't remember having a birthday that year. Only weeks after he killed himself, I turned 15.

Only this past 4th of July did I tell my aunt, one of my favorite people, why my dad really killed himself. It wasn't the potential cancer in his lungs or the medical issues piling up. It was me and him refusing to go to jail as a pedophile who raped a child every day from 9 to just before he died.

I still have issues from it. I still have flashbacks and nearly punch my boyfriend, rarely, when we're intimate. I still have a hard time talking about family. I still can't go back to that park where my mother found out.

I remember not wanting to talk about it, but my therapist just circling back to it every session. The other, many many other issues, in my life being brushed aside to pick at the scab over the memories.

The sharpest part was a girl who I hated, who hated me back, telling me over the internet to "Go get raped by your dead dad".

Seeing that message come in will always be burned into my memory, and I remember debating suicide rather than acknowledge that. I remember my therapist's almost condescending look as she asked why not just delete social media.

I don't know that I even have a point posting in here on my throwaway but I just had to get this out somewhere. I'm a little numb and I don't know if I will be able to eat today, but it's both back vividly in my mind yet a decade away.

I can't believe it's been a decade since he killed himself. It's some sort of relief, knowing he's been dead and gone for so long, but still I just want to spend money I don't have on pizza and wings and junk food rather than make myself cook again and eat something not horrible for me. I've already spent money I don't have back when my depressive state was too deep and I was spiraling just shy of trying to kill myself again. I just want to eat something hot and feel taken care of instead of feeling like I'm that same 14 year old little traumatized child forced to take care of an adult who should be caring for me instead.