A Stolen Life

by Jaycee Dugard

  Before he left today he brought me a very small black-and-white TV. It doesn’t get many channels, but at least I can hear people talking. At night it gets much better reception and I watch the late shows. During the day it only gets infomercials and QVC. Very boring, but I seem to like it more and more. Sometimes like today I fall asleep to the sound of some lady trying to sell me an opal necklace.

  I wake up the next morning … at least I think it is still morning. I think I am getting more used to sensing what time it is. Phillip usually comes to see me in the morning and then again during the evening when it gets dark. I’m hoping he will bring me my new kitty today.

  I feel like I haven’t eaten for a while. I can finally go to the bathroom anytime I need to. He has left a bucket for me in the corner covered with a piece of wood. I feel better knowing I don’t have to hold it in until he comes. I sometimes look out the window. I have seen the dogs he talks about. Other than that, all I see are fences and weeds. I wonder if there are any people nearby. I wonder where I am.

  I can hear him unlocking the door. He is coming. Now I can hear his footsteps. I hope he hasn’t come for sex. He walks in and tells me to close my eyes. He says he has a surprise for me. I close my eyes and when I open them I see my new kitty. It looks like it is a couple months old and looks half-grown already. I feel disappointed. I was hoping for a little kitten, but I do not want him to see that I am disappointed. I smile and act happy. I am happy I will have company. The kitty meows and he hands it to me. I ask if it’s a boy or girl, and he says it’s a girl. She looks kind of like a dark tiger. With stripes running down her back. I pet her, and he says he is going to go find a box for the litter. I try to think of a name for her and I decide on Tigger—bouncing Tigger from Winnie the Pooh. Tigger is always happy and never sad. My new Tigger starts to explore her surroundings, and I sit back and watch her. Phillip comes back with a litter box and food and water. Then he says that he has to go and take Nancy to work. I have asked him about the other person that was with him when he got me, and he says that it was Nancy, his wife. At first he wouldn’t tell me and would just say it was just some person that wasn’t around anymore, but sometimes I can hear him talking to someone outside, and I kept wondering who that was and he finally told me. I wonder if I will get to meet his wife, Nancy. I hope so. I would really like to meet her. I am so lonely. Maybe one day she will come in and talk to me.

  I have plans to teach my new kitty to come when I call her. I can’t wait to get started. He leaves and says he will be back later. Again, I hope it’s not for sex. Sometimes if I think really hard on something that I don’t want to happen, it doesn’t happen. It’s the stuff that I don’t think about that happens. So I try to think of everything that he could possibly do so it doesn’t happen. This is my theory, but it doesn’t always work because he always comes back for the sex. He says I am helping him with his sex problem. He says that instead of him hurting other people with his “problem,” he took me and brought me here so I could help him and he wouldn’t have to hurt anyone else ever again. I think that sounds really weird, but I also don’t want him to do what he is doing to me to someone else. So what choice do I have? I’m hoping if he sees that I am good and does what he says that he will let me go home soon. When he is not hurting me, he likes to make me laugh. He says he likes it when I smile. Right now it is hard to find a reason to smile, but I think it best to keep him happy.

  I think I have missed the field trip to the water park by now. I wonder if it was fun. I wonder what Shawnee is doing right now. I miss playing with her. And I was going to send my best friend Jessie a letter soon. I miss her so much. Ever since I moved to Tahoe I never get to see her anymore and I miss playing with her. I wonder if I will ever see her again. I wonder if anyone is looking for me. I can’t remember a day since “the day” that I haven’t cried. Will I ever again have a day without crying? I wonder what my mom is doing right now.

  He is coming to take my Tigger away. I am so sad. He says he can’t stand the smell when he comes in and the cat is peeing everywhere in here. I want to deny everything he says, but I can’t. I don’t think this is a good environment for Tigger. She wants to get out and run and play. She is tired of being in this room. I think that’s why she is acting out and peeing everywhere. I have begun to feel guilty for asking for her in the first place. I should have thought about the place we were going to put her. This is no place for a kitty. He says his aunt is an animal lover and will take her. I am happy she will go to a happier place. But I am still sad. I will be alone again. The time has come and he takes her away. He says that maybe one day I can see her again and I shouldn’t cry about it.

  Reflection

  It hurts to write about this part. This has turned out to be a very hard book to write. Part of me does not want to continue. To reenter the state of mind I was at that age is difficult and twists my insides. The more I write, the harder it becomes. On the one hand, I want to go on. I feel that if I don’t, then I continue to protect my kidnapper and rapist and I don’t have the need to do that any longer. On the other hand, this is something I have worked hard to put behind me and to write about it in such detail years later is difficult. To get inside my head and relive all this stuff that happened back then is terribly hard for me … I want to go on and I will finish it …

  Father’s Day, 2010

  Yesterday was Father’s Day and the man that I have been told is my father issued a statement in essence telling me to call him. He’s saying he’s dying of cancer. I did not call. I feel torn. I do not know this man that is my father. I do not want to feel sorry for this man that has chosen not to be a part of my life.

  When I was nine, I became curious as to who my dad was. I would wonder if maybe he was a prince. That would explain why he couldn’t live with us because of his many duties to his country, or maybe he was a navy ship captain that died on a secret mission. I wondered if he loved me. I guess around the time my sister was born, I started to notice other kids around me with dads and then there was my little sister with a dad that doted on her, and I wanted one, too. I noticed my stepfather, Carl, treated my sister so differently than he had been treating me. It made me feel unloved and unwanted.

  I remember asking my mom what my real dad’s name was and she replied, “His name is Ken.” And I remember smiling and said, “Like Barbie’s Ken?” I asked if she had a picture, but she didn’t. I asked if he had ever seen me, and she said that he had chosen not to. I didn’t understand why at the time. But it made me feel sad. After that I didn’t bring up the subject again. I had my mom, who I knew wanted me and loved me, and I wanted that to be enough.

  The next time I remember thinking about the man that fathered me was when I was kidnapped. For a brief second I thought maybe this was my father who took me. I know now this was the farthest thing from the truth. I even asked Phillip if he was my father in the beginning and he immediately said no.

  Now as I sit and write about these moments of my life, I feel confused. What should I feel? What should I think? I must answer these questions on my own now. For so long decisions were made for me. This confusing topic was not something I had to think about in that backyard.

  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 relationship 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 choic
e, 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 sex 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 wishing 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 glass 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 sex. 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 partition 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 writ
ing 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 penis, me in whatever position he desires, and dancing over him while he masturbates. He says for me to start by getting cleaned up with the bucket of water in the corner. He wants me to shave my vagina 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.