By Jaycee Dugard
In the summertime of 1991 i used to be a regular child. I did common issues. I had pals and a mom who enjoyed me. i used to be similar to you. till the day my lifestyles used to be stolen.
For eighteen years i used to be a prisoner. i used to be an item for somebody to take advantage of and abuse.
For eighteen years i used to be no longer allowed to talk my very own identify. I grew to become a mom and was once compelled to be a sister. For eighteen years I survived an most unlikely situation.
On August 26, 2009, I took my identify again. My identify is Jaycee Lee Dugard. I don’t think about myself as a sufferer. I survived.
A Stolen Life is my story—in my very own phrases, in my very own approach, precisely as I take into accout it.
Note: now not retail, yet comprises TOC and appears lovely fresh.
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Additional info for A Stolen Life: A Memoir
I put it in my mouth and was stunned by the sharp sweetness. " I said. "Chew on it, but don't swallow it," the nurse said with a laugh. She smiled real big and brought in other nurses so they could watch me chew my first-ever piece of gum. When she brought me lunch, she told me I had to take out my chewing gum, but she said not to worry because I could have a new stick after eating. If I finished the pack, she would buy me another. That was the thing about the hospital. You never had to worry about running out of stuff like food or ice or even chewing gum.
Mom's gestures were all familiar—the way she tilted her head and thrust out her lower lip when studying items of potential value that she'd hoisted out of the Dumpster, the way her eyes widened with childish glee when she found something she liked. Her long hair was streaked with gray, tangled and matted, and her eyes had sunk deep into their sockets, but still she reminded me of the mom she'd been when I was a kid, swan-diving off cliffs and painting in the desert and reading Shakespeare aloud.
Dad raised his eyebrows. " he asked. " "You must have seen it. " he asked. "Yes! Yes! " "Better believe I have. " Dad said he had been chasing Demon for years. By now, Dad said, that old Demon had figured out that it had better not mess with Rex Walls. But if that sneaky son of a gun thought it was going to terrorize Rex Walls's little girl, it had by God got another think coming. "Go fetch my hunting knife," Dad said. I got Dad his knife with the carved bone handle and the blade of blue German steel, and he gave me a pipe wrench, and we went looking for Demon.