My Story, Really

My first memory is masturbating under a baby sleeping bag at age 2 while Fly Away Home was watched by my parents.

And then every day after that until I was 16. 

Then there's the road trip, the traveling RV, the bunnies running around and my parents' hippie friends.
My parents were cool in that moment. That's the only time they were ever cool.
There's the sweet and sour pork from Hong Kong and a Sailor Moon Blockbuster rental.
My parents screamed in the background.
This happened a lot.
My dad would threaten to leave forever at least two times a week.
I would run to the front door, lock it, spread my arms and legs out across it while begging him to stay.
He'd push me out of the way and leave (but not forever).

There's fooling around with my cousin when we were young enough for it to be acceptable but old enough to know it was dirty.
The barbies and their dirty games. Mom found a note: "Times of sex: 1209238507960486468304962"
Yeah.
There was church. And church. And church. And church.
DirtywrongbadnastySEXUALwhyamIsosexualGodpleaseforgiveme
I was four.

Vague memories of the backyard and the swingset and Surfin' USA and the dogs and Bob Dole and Bill Clinton and The Raven and being much wiser and more intelligent than I am now.
Ages 4-7 are mostly full of memories of getting myself off to violent fantasies under a blanket in plain sight.
I thought of Princess Jasmine being captured by the 40 thieves and they put her labia in a small toaster oven and I got off to it.
My dad had to tell me to stop. I didn't want to look at him ever again after that.
I did tap and ballet and jazz and gymnastics and took piano lessons and played soccer and basketball and tennis and softball. My parents wanted me to do everything. My dad lived vicariously through me.
It was exhausting.
My first day of school (8 years old) my mom took my dad's keys accidentally and my dad got a ride to work my uncle had to take me to school. My first day.
There was Bradley and I liked him and he let me puff on his asthma inhaler and then he was murdered by his father along with his little sister and mother. I used to push the little girl on the tire swings.
My mom and grandma told me and took me to McDonald's. I ate french fries.

I read books and books and books. I read one book every day; never kids' books, those were BORING and I wanted to be big, I wanted to hurry up and get big and be a grownup.

Character Day. I went in an Uncle Sam costume and a girl asked if I had a pillow in it to make my stomach big.
"No...that's just my stomach."
Fat.
Dirty.
Slut (eight. years. old). 

I had friends I don't remember and don't particularly care about.