It Can Happen

My alcoholic father celebrated my eighth birthday by getting me drunk. In the beginning, I absolutely loved the way alcohol made me feel. I was no longer shy, insecure or lonely. I could talk to girls, or anyone for that matter. It had me flying high. And then when I was 13 everything got worse. My father began abusing me, physically and sexually. I felt all alone, trapped in a tiny Midwestern town with two traffic lights, a church on every corner and a liquor store across the street.