A Stolen Life - A Memoir Part 4

I don't want to have to make a decision on this issue right now. I want time to adjust and make a life for myself and my family before I decide whether or not I want a relations.h.i.+p with my biological father. I am still coming to terms with the manipulation I suffered at the hands of Phillip. I don't need another man issuing me ultimatums. I know what I want. I want more time to decide. I want to be in charge of when I feel I'm ready to meet this stranger and his family. Even though it has been almost a year from my captivity, I don't feel the time is right. I am through with living with other people's demands and wants. I feel guilt where there should be no guilt. It was not me who chose not to see his daughter when he had the chance. He could have made the effort to come and visit for the first eleven years of my life. He made the choice not to. He made that choice, and I am not condemning him for it. But by choosing to not be a part of my life back then; now I am an adult and I get to choose if and when I want to see him.

I have not had many positive male role models in my life. Since my release I have been introduced to some amazing fathers. I finally see with my own eyes what a father truly is and what it means to each of them. I see what good men are supposed to act like. Although each father is unique in his own way, they all have one thing in common-genuine love for their children. I met a dad that has part-time custody of his son. Although he does not see his son 24/7, their bond is deep and binding. You can see it by the way they interact and talk to each other. He never claims to be the perfect dad, but he strives to be better than the dad he had. He wants to be in his son's life through good times and bad. In my mind this makes him a super dad. He reminds me of my mom in a lot of ways. Another dad I have met is a stepfather. My experience with stepfathers wasn't the greatest. In my mind a stepparent never loves the stepkid as much as their own. I guess I think this way because I never felt loved or accepted by my stepfather. Now I see there are many forms of love and a stepparent can love their kids and the stepkids differently but still love and accept them. Although some stepparents and stepkids might not see eye-to-eye on some things, they can still have genuine affection for one another. I have never seen this stepfather making fun of his stepkids like Carl used to do to me. Shayna was his daughter; there was no doubt about that. He was very proud to have a daughter of his own. It left me feeling in the way. Perhaps this added to my sense of loneliness that I feel I have carried around for a long time.

I don't know why my biological father made the choice not to see me. I might never know the answer. I know now that he has two families, and I wonder if he takes the time to appreciate them. I know he must feel badly about what happened to me, but it was not his fault and could not have been prevented. Well, maybe it could have been prevented by some law changes and more supervision for s.e.x offenders by the government, but that's hindsight. No one could have foreseen what would happen to me or ever thought it was possible in that small Tahoe community. The fact is it happened. It's over now. I do not live my life constantly wis.h.i.+ng that I could change the past. I am thankful to be alive. I am thankful for my daughters. I am thankful I have an incredibly strong mom who never gave up on me. I am thankful for my beautiful, bright sister and loving aunt. And I am thankful for the countless others I have come to know since my rescue. Genes, I have learned, do not make a family. Families are the people that stick around through good and bad times. Sadness is part of life. Choosing to be happy and see the gla.s.s half full is a struggle we all must make. At this point I don't know what the future holds for me. I am enjoying what freedom I have and discovering things about myself I never knew. Will I choose to meet my biological father one day? I don't know the answer to that. I know for now I am not ready, and if that's too hard for him to understand, then that's too bad for him because I think I just might be worth waiting for.

The First "Run"

I just want to sleep. I sleep a lot, because when I sleep I can dream about better things, like being home with my mom and sister. When I wake it is dark, but something has woken me up. I hear the rattle of the lock. He is coming. He usually doesn't come this late. I have not thought he would come this late. I should have thought of all the possibilities and this wouldn't have happened. I am scared. What does he want? I want to sleep. He enters with a flashlight. I pretend to be sleeping. I squeeze my eyes tight. How long can I pretend to be asleep? I can hear him crouching down in front of me. Go away, I scream in my head. He shakes my shoulder and I pretend to wake up. He whispers to me, "It's time to wake up, we are going next door," and puts the blanket on me.

A few days ago, he brought in a pink flowered one-piece jumpsuit for me to wear and a pair of undies. It feels good to have something to wear. I hate taking it off when he comes for s.e.x. Where are we going? This is different, I haven't left this building since I got here. He says I need to be quiet as we make our way out of the building. I cannot see where he is leading me, but we are there quickly, so it must not be far away. I have taken about ten steps when we arrive "next door."

We have entered another room. This one is different. It's all one room with three windows. Two of the windows are on each side of the building and the third one is by the door. On the back wall halfway up is a cooler unit in the wall, but there are no windows on that wall. I see that there are iron bars on these windows, too, before he moves to cover them with towels. He is using a flashlight and doesn't turn on the lights until he has locked the doors. There are two doors back-to-back-one on the outside with heavy iron bars and the inner wooden door can be locked from the inside. I am standing frozen with fear and shaking from head to toe. The unknown is the scariest thing for me and I have no idea what to expect. I feel so alone I even long to go back to my little room next door. At least I know what to expect over there. I look around the room. I glance at the three windows he has now covered with towels and think, No one to save me from this, nowhere to go.

There is a blue couch in the center of the room; it separates the room into two halves. A part.i.tion separates the back of the couch with a desk on the other side. The desk has lots of junk on it. As I look at the door, to the right is a little refrigerator that sits on a wooden cabinet with storage underneath. To the left of the door there is a toilet with a built-in bucket. As I turn around I see beyond the couch a TV on a stand. I notice a black trash bag sitting by the couch. There is also a stool under the window.

Reflection

I just noticed I was trying to distract myself from writing this part. I saw a spot on my computer and for some reason it was very important to get that spot off right now even though I know it's been there for months. My mind knows that what comes next is not easy for me. I am finding ways to avoid it. Avoiding things has worked to my advantage in the past. At other times, like now, it is just an inconvenience. I want to not be afraid of letting people know what really happened to me all those long years ago.

When I was first found I was adamant that there would be no book, no one would ever know what happened. In the months that have followed I feel I have grown so much. With the help of my mom and my family and especially my therapist I have come to realize that I can now do things for myself. I can make my own decisions and not worry about it if it's not what someone else wants. But most of all I have come to realize that I no longer need to protect him, Phillip Garrido. He no longer, or ever really, needed or deserved my protection. It has taken time for the guilt to wear off. But after living with him for so long I am amazed at how good I feel that I am no longer subject to him.

It is incredible, the depth of his manipulation. It did not feel like manipulation at the time. Only distance and time have revealed what life was like there and what life looks like from the outside. While I was there I would tell myself it could be worse; there are so many people in the world in worse situations than mine. At least I had a place to live. But what kind of life did I have really? No house. No real family. No friends. No, life was not what it should have been. My life depended on Phillip Garrido.

In my heart I do not hate Phillip. I don't believe in hate. To me it wastes too much time. People who hate waste so much of their life hating that they miss out on all the other stuff out here. I do not choose to live my life that way. What is done is done. I'm looking to the future. For the first time in a long time I get to look to the future instead of just the present. I have lived one day to the next never daring to look ahead. I never knew what was going to happen. If all my heart was filled up with hate and regrets and what ifs, then what else would it have room for? I won't say every day has been glorious and wonderful, but even on the bad days I can still say one thing-I am free ... free to be the person I want to be ... free to say I have my family and now new friends ... I have nothing to feel ashamed about. I am strong and want to continue writing my story ...

And then I see it. In the corner by the desk there is a bucket of water. Oh no! I think to myself I don't want to ... No! ... No! But what can I really do? Nothing. There is no one here but me and him. The door is locked. I want to cry. But I don't. He is talking now. He talks a lot, I notice, but doesn't really say important things. He just likes to hear himself talk, I think. It's easier to just agree with him because if you don't he'll explain it in detail and go on forever. He says something about going on a "run." I doubt if he means he's going outside for a real run; it's late and dark outside. He explains to me that a "run" is something he is going to be doing periodically and that I will be staying up with him for a few days depending on how much crank he is going to take. He says that crank is a drug that lets him stay up for longer periods of time. He says he really amazes himself by how much crank he can smoke or snort at one time. He says he can take hit after hit and it doesn't hit him as hard as a regular person. He says he has out-smoked his friends before and he has a high tolerance to all forms of drugs. He says he is explaining all this to me so I know what's going on and I will know what is expected of me. He says the "run," as he calls staying up for days, will be a time for him to fulfill all his fantasies and I will help him do that. He says the crank allows him to focus on one thing for a long time. He says first he's going to get me dressed the way he wants and then depending on his mood, the rest will consist of me masturbating him, sucking his p.e.n.i.s, me in whatever position he desires, and dancing over him while he m.a.s.t.u.r.b.a.t.es. He says for me to start by getting cleaned up with the bucket of water in the corner. He wants me to shave my v.a.g.i.n.a because he doesn't like hair because it gives him a rash. After that he is going to dress me and then I can put on some makeup. Makeup? Why does he want me to put on makeup? Why do I have to do any of this? It's stupid and I hate it. I don't want to do what he wants. I don't want to take off my clothes. I don't want to do any of it. I just want to go home! I think to myself. On the outside all I let go is a few tears. I'm afraid he will see me crying and become angry. He has already told me not to cry because it will interfere with his fantasy. I'm trying so hard not to cry.

He sees me hesitating and picks up the stun gun, I go over to the bucket and clean myself a little, when I am done he drags over the bag of clothes and starts to dress me in tight clothes. He makes holes in weird places.

I have been standing for what feels like hours now. When will he get done? Do I want him to be done? What's going to happen next? I guess he finally is happy with his creation. He tells me to lay on the bed in a certain way and then he gets undressed. He has a little bag of white powder. I'm not sure what it is. Maybe that's the crank he talked about. He shakes some out on the desk and uses a razor blade to chop it up a bit, then he puts it into a gla.s.s pipe and lights it and inhales from the other side. He asks if I want some and I say no. He says it helps him stay up, he calls it speed or crank. I think it is disgusting. I hate drugs. Is that why he is doing this-because of the drugs? He also rolls what he calls a joint and says its marijuana. He explains to me he has a s.e.x problem and that he took me so I could help him with his problem so he wouldn't have to bother anyone else with his problem. He says it consumes his mind and that by me giving him an outlet I am saving others. Why me? Why can't he take care of his own problem? I don't want others to be hurt, though. Better me than someone else. The night seems endless and I am very tired. He has the lights on. All of them. It makes the room so hot. I have to touch his p.e.n.i.s and stroke it up and down; he calls this "jacking off." Sometimes he wants me to suck on it, too. I hate it so much; it tastes disgusting. I am afraid the white stuff which he said is called c.u.m will get in my mouth. I think this is really gross. He says the speed helps him to prolong the s.e.x so he won't c.u.m for a while. So I don't have to worry. This goes on and on for a while with him looking at these books he has. They look like photo alb.u.ms, but they have kids from magazines cut out in different positions with p.e.n.i.ses taped on from other magazines. He looks at them and talks dirty to them, using words that are bad, some of which I have never heard before. He keeps doing the same thing over and over. When will this nightmare end? He also flips through the channels on the TV. He says he's looking for anything with a little girl with shorts on. I think it is finally morning now. The sun is coming through the windows that are covered with towels. I can see the sun through some of the cracks. He looks at the time and he says it's time to have s.e.x. He tells me to lie down on my back. Part of me is relieved to get it over with. I was dreading it but want to go to sleep. I'm so tired. He gets on top of me and tells me he's going to talk really dirty to me and for me not to be scared. He says he's still the same person. He just needs to release the "monkey on his back." I can't help but cry, but they are silent tears. He f.u.c.ks me as hard as he can it seems like. He uses that word a lot. My head is being pushed in between the couch and the pullout bed. I feel like I can't breathe. He is calling me a f.u.c.king wh.o.r.e and a c.u.n.t and other things. I want to be somewhere else, but I am here and I must not panic. It hurts more when I try to struggle, so I try not to get away from him, but it's hard not to want to push away from his sweaty disgusting body. Everything will be okay I tell myself. He will be the nice person soon. The one that likes to make me laugh and brings me good things to eat. I feel his release in me and finally it is over. He asks if I'm okay and I look at him and burst into tears. He takes me in his arms and says it's okay, that he is done, and that I can get cleaned up and go to sleep. He won't bother me like this for a while. I am so scared I don't know what to think. I want to believe him. He releases me to get up and put on his pants. He leaves to get me fresh water to bathe with. I am left alone. I hear the lock as it clicks. I wonder why he bothers. Where would I go? I don't know where I am. I feel so alone. Who would want me now? He comes back with the water and I get up, I am so sore. I am also bleeding again. He says it looks like I started my period. Tomorrow he will bring me some tampons and show me how to use them. For now he gives me some paper towels to stick in my underwear. I feel a little better now that I am dressed. He takes me back to the studio and says he will be back later with something really good to eat. He leaves and I am scared, tired and alone.

(The buildings that I write about are all in the part of the backyard that Phillip made secret for eighteen years.)

Reflection

To see myself in that moment is very hard now. I was there and all this c.r.a.p happened, but as I look back I can't help but look forward. I live in the present just as I always have and when I look back like this I see a very scared little girl just trying to survive. I wanted to go home to my mom more than anything, but I didn't know how. He said he took me so that he wouldn't have to hurt anyone else. In a way he made me feel special. I felt needed. Why I felt I needed that from this man I don't know. He would say terrible things like he would teach me how to be the best "s.e.x slave" ever. And then there were other times that he was a very nice person. It confused me. When he would use bad language, it would scare me and make me feel horrible. One time he even threatened that he was going to sell me. This made me so scared. I didn't really know what it meant. When I asked why, he said I wasn't really doing the things that he wanted me to do. He said I cried too much and that it was hard for him to act out his fantasies when I was uncooperative and made him feel bad. I remember I begged him to please don't make me go with someone else, that I would try harder, and he could do anything he wanted and I would not fight. He said he would have to think about it. He said that these people that he was going to sell me to were planning to put me in a cage. It would be really bad for me. That it would be better for me if I stayed, but he didn't know if that was the thing for him to do. I remember shaking so hard on the couch. I didn't want to be put in a cage. He left me thinking that that was what was going to happen to me. When he returned that day and said we were going to go on a "run," I didn't dare ask if he had changed his mind. I just tried to do everything just the way he told me. He never followed through on any of his promises. I will probably never forget feeling as afraid as I did that day. He never mentioned it again. Even when I went back to doing everything he wanted, I tried to rebel in my own little ways. Like sometimes I wouldn't put in as much effort as I could here and there. I wouldn't jack him off as fast as I could, forgetting (on purpose) to put lipstick on, and fake sleeping whenever he was engrossed in the TV. Little things that he wouldn't notice, but I still felt good inside for knowing I wasn't trying my best. I knew when to get serious, though, I was beginning to get a sense of his moods and when I could and when I could not mess around with him.

The "runs" were some of the most horrible moments of my life. I can't think of a good moment even when a "run" was over. I always knew there'd be a next time. I could see no end in sight. The horridness of being alone was always there, too. I really hated and despised it when he would leave me tied up in a certain position by those eye hooks that screw into the wall. He would screw them into the wall and then lift my legs with straps in different positions. One night he had been working on the position, trying to get it right for hours and realized he needed to go pick up Nancy from the nights.h.i.+ft where she worked a convalescent home. He said he was just going to leave me tied up because it was the perfect position. He was gone for a while. My legs were in such an awkward position, I got leg cramps and the straps hurt my ankles. I was relieved when he got back, I wanted to get it over with so I could be done and go to bed. Those were horrible times. I can't believe I ever felt sorry for him. He was always saying what a good person he was and he didn't know how else to help his problem. I needed to help him so others wouldn't be hurt. He said, society didn't help people like him and that there were a lot of men out there in the world with the same problem as his. He would apologize to me. He would cry after he was done f.u.c.king me and beg my forgiveness. He said it would make him feel better. For a reason I can't name, I knew in those moments that it was important to my survival that I never truly show how much I was hurting inside. I don't know why, but after that I kept my feelings to myself.

Years later I learned it's the little things that add up to make a person. Back then I couldn't see the little things that added up to the bigger picture of who Phillip was on the inside. I only saw what he wanted me to see. And that was a misunderstood guy with a problem that n.o.body wanted to help him with. I think he felt life was cheating him of what he wanted. Deep inside Phillip Garrido is a very selfish man, looking only to gratify himself as much as possible while still projecting to the world a selfless and caring man.

The first year was the worst. I hated when he would videotape me and him having s.e.x or me doing some other degrading thing. The camera would always have to be in the right spot and positioned just right. It was horrible. He would always a.s.sure me that the videos were just for him and n.o.body else would ever see them. He used them, he said, to give me a break. Years later when the s.e.x became not as frequent, he said that he had destroyed the tapes and got rid of them. I believed him. Little did I know they were still on the property, only partly destroyed.

We called the first room I was taken to when Phillip kidnapped me the "studio" and later when the "runs" (long days of s.e.x) started and he introduced me to the second building in the backyard, we called that "next door."

Funny, how I can look back now, and notice how the "secret backyard" didn't really look so "secret." It wasn't even that well hidden. I was in the middle of a neighborhood. There were neighbors all around; the only thing that was camouflaged was the gate leading to the second backyard. I can't understand why Phillip's parole officers didn't know anything about the property and the size of it. It makes me believe no one cared or was even really looking for me. Below is a diagram.

Nancy

I'm so hungry that's all I can think of. There is nothing good on television. It's so nice having a TV to watch whenever I want to; I really shouldn't complain. After the last "run," he let me stay "next door." It's a lot bigger than the studio room I was in before. There is lots of stuff to explore in here. Phillip has started to call me Snoopy. When I asked him why he said because I ask a lot of questions and he knows I've been snooping around his desk in here. He laughs and doesn't seem to mind. I wonder how he knew I had gone through his desk? It frightens me how he seems to know everything. This room has windows, too, but they have iron bars on them just like the door. He keeps the towels on them. At first when he let me stay in this room he would handcuff me to the pullout bed. It was really uncomfortable, but at least I got to watch the color TV. Now it's been a few months and he doesn't handcuff me anymore. I can get up and walk around. I looked out the windows but can't really see much out of them. I can see the studio, as Phillip calls it, from the outside. It looks like a barn to me. It's brown wood with many panels. Lots of wires going to and from it. I like this room better. There is more room and it doesn't feel as small as the other room.

Phillip is at the door. When he comes in, he says he has someone that wants to meet me. Behind him stands a short woman with long dark hair. Phillip introduces her as Nancy, his wife. Phillip wants us to be good friends. He tells me Nancy will bring me dinner for now. They don't stay long. Phillip comes in a little while later and tells me that Nancy is just a little jealous of me but that she will come around to liking me in time if I am good and make an effort to encourage her to like me. I can't believe he has a wife and that she helped him take me. I am young and still believed in love and that in a marriage you are faithful to each other. This is another new lesson. I figure she must be jealous because he is using me for s.e.x instead of her. While Phillip was talking to me about Nancy, he says she doesn't really like s.e.x and that I am helping her out, too. I really hate it and wish I didn't have to. I don't understand why I have to help her.

The first time I was introduced to Nancy, I was glad for the company. Except at first she didn't stay long. She started to bring me my meals. And Phillip would tell me that he was encouraging her to talk to me and be my friend but that she was jealous of me.

They got me a Nintendo, which is fun. I'm not as alone as I used to be. Nancy and Phillip sleep in the pullout couch. I have a pallet on the floor. Nancy came in the other day and said she had been looking for a special bear for me and she said she finally found the perfect one. She hands me a soft, squishy purple bear. I told her I loved him and I would try to think of a name for him. I think I will name him Nurple Bear. I hug him close every night. I think Nancy is starting to like me more. I'm not really sure how I feel about her. She sometimes spends time with me and tells me about her job. She works with old people at a convalescent home. She has a favorite client. He's an old Italian man named Mr. Giovetti. She likes when she gets to take care of him. She tells me that the family really appreciates the care she gives him. I hope she comes to bring me dinner soon.

Sometimes when Phillip stays up for days and days and goes on a "run," he talks about bringing Nancy in to "party with us." I do not like the sound of that at all. How could I look at her the same way if I had to have s.e.x with her, too? That would be disgusting. I hope she feels the same way. Phillip says he's been trying to convince her. I really pray that she doesn't agree. Phillip also wants to watch his dog, Cesar, have s.e.x with me. He says a dog's p.e.n.i.s is not as long as his and it wouldn't hurt me as bad. I hope he is just talking and doesn't mean he will actually bring his dog in. It's one of the Dobermans that he said patrolled the backyard. He said the male, Cesar, is not very aggressive; it is the female, Hera, that was mean. He has thoughts and ideas that I have never thought of before. Why would anyone have s.e.x with a dog? How did Phillip get such crazy ideas? I don't want to be here. I want to go home to my mom.

There is a mini-fridge in here and they have put cartons of chocolate milk and regular milk. Phillip says his mother works as a janitor at a school and she brings them home for him. There is also cereal for me to eat in the morning. Phillip loves cereal. I often hear him get up in the middle of the night having a bowl. It's very annoying, because I don't like being woken up in the middle of the night and he constantly hits the bowl with his spoon and makes a loud dinging, sc.r.a.ping sound. Sleep is the only escape I have. When I don't dare think, I dare to dream.

The days are so boring. I wonder what Phillip does all day. I like to make things; with the empty cartons of milk I have figured out how to make a Barbie couch and chairs. I cut the sides and then tape them into a shape I like, add cotton b.a.l.l.s for cus.h.i.+on, and then glue fabric on the outside and voila! Instant Barbie furniture. Nancy brings me things that I ask for when she can. She brings me Disney magazine and Highlights magazine, too. Nancy gave me a Birthday Barbie a few days after my twelfth birthday. An odd thing happened on my actual birthday a few days ago. Phillip comes in while I am watching TV and they say that he and Nancy have a surprise for me. I get excited thinking that they remembered my birthday and thought they had a present for me. He tells me to close my eyes while Nancy comes in and I'm thinking she is hiding my present. When Phillip says I can open my eyes, I see Nancy sitting on the end of my bed with a slight grin on her face. She is staring right at me. I interpret this to mean something, but I'm not sure why she is staring at me so intently. I look around the room expecting to see something wrapped up, but I don't see anything changed. Phillip says, "Well, can you find the surprise?" I get up to investigate the room. I finally sit back down and look at him and say I can't find anything. He says, "No, silly, it's right in front of you." I look in front of me and only see Nancy. I'm starting to feel really bad for not seeing my surprise that is supposed to be right in front of me. I shrug my shoulders and just sit and wait for them to tell me. All the while Nancy is turning her head this way and that and shaking it. Finally, Phillip points to Nancy and says, "Look at Nancy's hair." I look and see it's not long like it used to be and it is highlighted with red streaks. Nancy tells me, "Surprise. I have a new hairdo that I wanted you to see." I try to cover my disappointment with a smile and I tell her it looks great. I feel awkward and selfish for thinking that they had brought me something. I hope they don't notice how disappointed I am.