The Diary ~ January 3rd 1989

I have been busy with my Father, killing. I have thrown up more in these last few weeks than in my whole life. I see all their faces, their pleas and there was nothing I could do. Every time he made me attempt to kill one, I would throw up; he would hit me, call me weak and worthless and do it himself. I could not bring myself to do it. I am not like my parents; I cannot hurt anything for fun, for pleasure. I know how it feels to be that cat.

I have started to plan how I will kill my parents. I will drug them, drive them to my Father’s warehouse and stab them. I will leave them to be found and take full responsibility for it. I have read that I can claim distress or self defense. I just have to wait until they beat me again.

I also snuck away from school, telling my Mother I had a project to work on in the library, and bought a small video camera to hide in my room. I am going to record what happens to me every night and save them to discs, for my defense. I am also going to video me killing my parents, as my Father does his victims. I also know where those tapes are now and can show them to the police.

I know people will wonder, why I didn’t just tell someone, the police, a teacher, a friend. Well I did, I told the police; I had a medical exam and they documented my bruises and my sexual assault. When the police talked to my parents; they explained that I had fallen skiing, a week earlier, which I did. My sexual assault was not sexual assault, it was my boyfriend. They told the police, they caught us having sex the night before. The boyfriend was a lie, but my Mother paid a street kid, Matt, to lie and say we did. He came to her charity once, looking for food. She helped him get food and feed him daily, so to keep that going and to earn a little cash he would have said anything. The police lectured me for 2 hours on why I should not lie to the police and the repercussions in the future if I did. Well, my repercussions came later that night. My parents took turns beating me and my Mother watched my Father rape me; laughing saying this was all my fault and what I deserved.

For the next 5 days, my parents withheld food and water and I only ate at school. That was the 10th time my ribs were broke. No, I do not have the option to call for help; I am the only help I have.