Hen Duffy Monologue

Monologue Some days I don’t think of the incidents at all and other days, such as today, for some reason it’s all I can think about. It’ll come over me like a giant wave in a calm ocean and it’ll take me under making it as if I’m drowning and surrounded by the dreadful memories. It happened when I was 5. At that age I didn’t realize what was happening. I just knew that it wasn’t right for some reason. Mostly it happened in this red truck that my dad had that I just loved being in. After the incidents I hated that damn truck. Hell, I still don’t even like the color red because of the events. I begged him to stop but I was too small to stop him. The cause of the incidents was named Micky, but I just called him the dog. That’s all he is in my
While around everyone else Mickey was fine and awesome. I knew that bastard better than that. Micky would take me to the truck and be sweet at first and then just aggressive. His dirt paws would leave bruises all over my body. Of course people would ask about my bruises, but I would just say I fell down steps or fell from a tree. It was just like each time it drained my trust and caused me to become scared of other dogs. It stopped happening one day after I heard my dad yelling at him. It was something about him drinking too much. At the time I thought he was talking about him just drinking too much water. I realized what he actually meant at the same time it clicked what was happening when I was 5 and why he wanted it to be our little secret. Now it is 13 years later and I am an 18-year-old girl. I’m still scared of dogs and don’t trust them. I try not to let the events affect me too much concerning my outward appearance. I refuse to let the incidents dictate my life. But they still sometimes pop up in my mind randomly and I’ll break down briefly. Sometimes crying myself to sleep while silently blaming myself. I try to keep it to myself. I don’t want to bother others or have them think I’m a bad or nasty person for letting it