Here it is. The man I always adored. The man who raised me from day one. The one who held me when I cried, who hugged me when I was hurt, and who comforted me whenever I was afraid of the monsters under the bed. My favorite person in the world is standing in front of me now, but I don't recognize him at all. How could someone I had known my whole life become a stranger to me in just a few hours? Horror movies, orange cream ice cream, ham and cheese hot pockets, double-stuffed Oreos, cool ranch Doritos, and DiGiorno's rising crust pizza. It was the shopping list for every other Friday evening, when my father would pick up my older sister and me from my mother's house at the usual meeting place, the local gas station. That has never changed. We would go to his apartment and I would curl up in my dad's big arms and watch horror movies and eat junk food all weekend. I felt safest in his arms, like nothing could ever hurt me. I was the truest definition of a “daddy’s girl” you could find. When I was younger, I loved life, but I loved my father even more. He was the picture of perfection. In my eyes, he was that hero who could save me from everything. I cried when I left his apartment; I never wanted to leave him. However, one night I cried for a new reason: say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on “Why Violent Video Games Should Not Be Banned”? Get the original essay My father has had back problems for as long as I can remember, resulting in numerous back surgeries and medications. That November night when I was in sixth grade, he took too many bad medications and went completely crazy. He ran around the apartment yelling at people who weren't there. He destroyed the room we all shared because he said it was falling into a black hole. He walked around all night laughing, the kind of laugh you would hear from a possessed character in a horror movie, just like the horror movies we rented every weekend. But this time, it was my father who was the monster in the film. The worst part of the whole night happened around three in the morning. During his horror movie, my sister and I were sitting on the couch holding each other and sobbing. He entered the living room from the kitchen, holding a large butcher knife. He walked up to my sister and me and stood in front of us, holding him, laughing and breaking my heart. In that moment, at age eleven, I accepted that I was going to die that night. Luckily he put the knife down and later my sister called the cops around five in the morning and saved me. As I held my teddy bear, I saw the cops and paramedics taking my dad out of the apartment. I saw him screaming and fighting with them, and I even heard him tell them that I wasn't his daughter. I cried so much that night, but for a day or two I was crying for the wrong reason. I was so afraid that they would take my father away from me. What would I do without my father, my best friend? I was heartbroken, not because he had tortured me for eight hours, or because he had almost killed me, but because I didn't want to lose him. I had no idea of ​​the reality of the situation. A few days after that night, I had a nightmare that changed everything. In this dream, all the events of the night repeated themselves and I relived everything. However, when he arrived at three in the morning and walked in with the knife, rather than put it down, my father murdered me. This dream has been with me for seven years and occurred every night for the first couple, but it.