Here it is. The man I have always adored. The man who raised me from day one. The one who held me when I cried, who held me when I was hurt, and who comforted me whenever I was afraid of the monsters under the bed. My favorite person in the whole world is now standing in front of me, yet I don't recognize her at all. How could someone I'd known my whole life become a stranger to me in a matter of hours? Scary movies, orange ice cream, hot ham and cheese sandwiches, double-stuffed Oreos, amazing ranch Doritos and DiGiorno's yeast pizza. This was the shopping list for every Friday night, when my father picked me and my older sister up from my mother at the usual meeting point, the gas station on the corner. It has never changed. We would go to his house and I would curl up in my dad's big arms and watch scary movies and eat junk food all weekend. I felt safer in his arms, like nothing could ever hurt me. I was the realest definition of “daddy's girl” you would ever find. When I was younger I loved life, but I loved my dad even more. He was the picture of perfection. In my eyes, he was this hero who could save me from anything. I cried leaving his apartment; I never wanted to leave him. However, one night I cried for a new reason: saying no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on "Why Violent Video Games Shouldn't Be Banned"? Get Original Essay My father has had back problems for as long as I can remember, which involved numerous back surgeries and medications. That November night of my sixth grade year, he took too much of the wrong medicine and went completely crazy. He ran around the apartment yelling at people who weren't actually there. He tore up the bedroom we all shared because he said he was falling into a black hole. He walked around all night laughing, the kind of laugh you'd hear from the possessed character in a horror movie, just like the horror movies we rented every weekend. However, this time, the monster in the movie was my father. The worst part of the whole night took place around three in the morning. During his horror movie giggles, my sister and I sat on the couch hugging each other, sobbing. He entered the living room from the kitchen holding a large butcher's knife. He walked over to me and my sister and stood there in front of us, holding it, laughing and breaking my heart. At that moment, at eleven years old, I accepted that I would die that night. Luckily, he put the knife down and later my sister called the police around five in the morning and saved me. As I clutched my teddy bear, I watched the cops and paramedics pull my father out of the apartment. I saw him scream and fight at them, and I even heard him tell them that I wasn't his daughter. I cried so much that night, but for the next day or two I cried 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 tortured me for eight hours, or because he almost killed me, but because I didn't want to lose him. I had no idea what the reality of the situation really was. A few days after that night I had the nightmare that changed everything. In this dream, all the events of the night were repeated once again and I relived everything, however when three in the morning came and he came in with the knife, instead of putting it down, my father killed me. This dream has been with me for the past seven years and was an every night occurrence for the first couple, but now it has plateaued to only once every few months. Although this dream haunted me and still hurt me and.