A Stolen Life by Jaycee Dugard Read Free Book Online Page A

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 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