He Was Horrible.
I loved my dad. I think it would have been easier if I hadn't, but I did. As a child I didn't know what he was doing was wrong until I expressed a dislike for his sexual abuse and he wouldn't stop.
At first I was just upset because he just didn't care about what I wanted. I just wanted to sleep. Of course I eventually found out what he was doing was seen as sick and wrong, and that caused me a lot of anxieity.
His tastes started to change and he began to act like a director whenever he started his abuse sessions. I was told to ask for things I didn't know, to talk about things I had no idea what it was, and he started to be rougher on my intimate areas.
I was in constant pain, especially through-out middle school. I was picked on horribly because I had "a face like a mouse" and walked "strangely". It's because I was so sore. It didn't help I was sensitive and kept to myself.
School was so hard to go to, but coming home was worse. My mother knew what was going on, but our mutial shame kept us from getting help.