Amid considerable stress, tension, and beatings the Trolls* moved to Alaska. Neither of them was happy with the situation and they were both taking their frustrations out on me. He especially was yelling all the time, pinching and shaking me as his drinking grew more excessive. In the move, Mr. Troll started hitting, yelling at me “This is all your fault. Your bad and I wish you weren’t here.” He insisted to her that there was something wrong with me, had been something wrong with me from birth, that’s why she was suffering. Mrs. Troll, when she noticed me at all, started yelling at me about it being my fault also that they had to move. Mrs. Troll, still postpartum, compounded by her pregnancy, despaired and raged alternately. Once they arrived in Alaska, the isolation preyed on her depression and, often sick, she hid in their room for days at a time trying to deny she was in Alaska. This gave Mr. Troll free reign to rage and attack, beating First Born* and me. Mr. Troll continued to molest and starve me, pinching my arms, legs, labia. When she did venture out, she was angry and yelling. First Born started acting up, looking for more attention. I was still crying and furious. I began crawling but was still trapped in that house, often in the crib. He also left me in unchanged diapers for days at a time and beat me for the mess. I would start screaming when he came into the room that I was in. Once, while I was in the crib, I threw my rattle at him and it felt really good. He beat me, yelling at me to stop screaming and telling me I was bad.

I began walking at about 11 months and both Mr. Troll and First Born were knocking me over. Mr. Troll stepped on my left foot, breaking bones. I screamed in pain and he told me, yelling at me to shut up and stop making so much noise. The pain was intense and they did not acknowledge it nor did I receive any medical attention. I started talking at about the same time. The first word I learned to say was “stop.” Obviously it was the word I heard the most often. My first birthday came and went unmarked.

Then Mrs. Troll started telling me I was going to have a baby brother or sister, wasn’t I happy? NO!! I did not want another baby in the house. I knew that it would be bad for another child. Suddenly she started to seem happy about the baby coming even though she still suffered from serious bouts of rage and depression. For the baby’s birth we all flew to the hospital. Mr. Troll did not go into the room with her. He stayed in the waiting area with First Born and me. When a nurse asked us how we were, Mr. Troll verbally attacked her, telling her our mother was giving birth and we were anxious and worried, stop bothering the children. He was mean and nasty to her and then turned on First Born and me after the nurse left accusing us of calling attention to ourselves to get the nurse to talk to us.

And then there it was, my so-called little sister, Princess. We were taken into the room where Mrs. Troll was recovering, holding her. “This is your sister, Princess. Isn’t she pretty?” NO!! From her birth they insisted she was blond haired and blue eyed (actually she has light brown hair and gray eyes) and they treated her as if she was a princess (Note: they are of Germanic heritage and idealized the Aryan look). I hated her/resented her from the first time I saw Mrs. Troll holding her and cooing over her in the hospital. I wanted to be the one held not the one tortured and starved.

*And still not their real names