"Men are pigs. Don't ever get married, or you'll end up like me, and all your husband will do is treat you like shit."

That was the only advice I ever got on men. That was my opinion of them too. They were nasty, and cared about no one but themselves.

You could say I got this image from my parents' marriage. They never got along, and I wasn't even supposed to be born. I was the only thing keeping them together, although it wasn't apparent why. I was "trouble" and "not worth it".

So maybe I ran away a lot, but the constant fighting drove me crazy! "Slut! Whore! Bastard! Fuck you! Fuck you too!"

I was trouble, and I couldn't deny that. Trouble was my middle name. I always had to get into trouble to be alive. I smoked weed, I drank, and I robbed. I guess I was a "juvenile delinquent", but what does that mean anyways? It had no meaning to me.

My parents didn't care. I was a mistake.

"You'll never amount to anything," my dad spat. "You'll be a drunk bitch your entire life. You'll be a whore just like your filthy mother."

My dad never ever cared about me, even when I was bored. He tried to kill me! He's tried multiple times, until my mom threatened she would tell the police.

Actually, you would never guess that my dad was a murder/rapist.

Did I forget to mention? My dad loved to rape me. It wasn't on a regular basis, just when my mom was too pissed off to give him any. I was his other resource for pleasure, which also gave me a bad impression of men.

Back to the never guessing, my dad had a job in contracting, and made lots of money. You'd never guess that he gave his family a shitty life. Whenever we were out we were the "perfect" family. If we weren't he cut us both up until the point we fainted.

But someone found out.

I thought I was going to be saved, but I wasn't.

Instead, we moved down to some small Indian reserve in Washington that was near Olympia.

It was perfect for my dad. No one would notice how bad my mom and I were treated.

No one at all.