Face your fears head on. I said to myself. He’ll understand. I whispered under my breath as I rocked back and forth in my hospital bed. I did whatever I could to find a shred of courage in my soul, but that was like searching for a needle in a haystack. All these images of my father chastising me inundated my brain as if the levee had been breeched. I kept picturing him wagging his finger or shouting and cursing or threatening me with my life.

I used to be brave. I couldn’t remember any testimony but it was a fact nonetheless. I was brave, but that was taken away from me, just like my virginity, just like my dignity, just like everything I once knew. What kind of dignity did I have? How could I look my father in the eye and say I was okay. I would be lying straight to his face. Some guy had drugged me and touched me and… well, it just wasn’t okay. And I wasn’t okay.

As much as all my previous delusions frightened me, nothing could have scared me more than what he would do if he wasn’t mad: hug me.