Jaycee Dugard - A Stolen Life

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Contents

Dedicated to my daughters.
For the times weve cried together,
laughed together.
And all the times in between.

This book might be confusing to some. But keep in mind throughout my book that this was a very confusing world I lived in. I think to truly begin to understand what it was like, you would have had to be there, and since I wish that on no one, this book is my attempt to convey the overwhelming confusion I felt during those years and to begin to unravel the damage that was done to me and my family.

You might be suddenly reading about a character that was never introduced, but thats how it was for me. It didnt feel like a sequence of events. Even after I was freed, moments are fragmented and jumbled. With some help, I have come to realize that my perspective is unique to abduction. I dont want to lose that voice, and therefore I have written this book how it came to me naturally. Im not the average storyteller... Im me... and my experience is very uncommon. Yes, I jump around with tangents, but thats sometimes the way my mind works. If you want a less confusing story, come back to me in ten years from now when I sort it all out!

Jaycee Lee Dugard, age eleven

Lets get one thing straight! My name is Jaycee Lee Dugard. I was kidnapped by a stranger at age eleven. For eighteen years I was kept in a backyard and not allowed to say my own name. What follows will be my personal story of how one fateful day in June of 1991 changed my life forever.

I decided to write this book for two reasons. One reason is that Phillip Garrido believes no one should find out what he did to an eleven-year-old girl... me. He also believes he is not responsible for his actions. I believe differently. I believe that everyone should know exactly what he and his wife Nancy were doing all these years in their backyard. I believe I shouldnt be ashamed for what happened to me, and I want Phillip Garrido to know that I no longer have to keep his secret. And that he is most certainly responsible for stealing my life and the life I should have had with my family.

Im also writing my story in the hopes that it will be of help to someone going through, hopefully not similar conditions, but someone facing a difficult situation of their ownwhatever that may be. Its easy for people to be horrified and shocked when someone is abducted, but what about all the other adults and kids living in sad homes? My goal is to inspire people to speak out when they see that something is not quite right around them. We live in a world where we rarely speak out and when someone does, often nobody is there to listen. My hope is that society changes in regards to how we treat someone who speaks out. I know I am not the only child to be hurt by a crazy adult. I am sure there are still the families that look great on the outside, but if someone were to delve deeper they would discover horrors beyond belief.

For many, it is so much easier to live in a self-made backyard that it can be tough and scary to venture out and leave that comfort zone behind. It is so worth it, though. You could be saving a person or a family who is not able to save themselves.

Take my case, for example: two Berkeley cops saw something amiss and spoke up about it. Even if they would have been wrong, they still did the right thing by speaking up. I will forever be grateful to them for doing the thing that I could not do for myself.

Back then, it was a struggle to get through a day, but now I look forward to each day and the next to come. After eighteen years of living with tremendous stress, cruelty, loneliness, repetition, and boredom, each day now brings a new challenge and learning experience to look forward to.

With my writings, I hope to convey that you can endure tough situations and survive. Not just survive, but be okay even on the inside, too. Im not sure how I did endure all that I did. I ask myself less and less every day. I used to think maybe the one reading this would find the answer for me, but I am beginning to think that I have secretly known all along.

Ask yourself, What would you do to survive?

Me, J-A-Y-C-E-E, age two

My situation was unique, and I cant begin to imagine what others are going through in their daily lives. You can survive tough situations is all I can say. I did. History has taught us that even when it looks like there is no hope, hope still lives in peoples hearts.

T. S. Eliot once wrote, I said to my soul be still, and wait without hope; for hope would be hope for the wrong thing.

My trust and hope were indeed put in the wrong person(s), but nevertheless it still lived.

I am so lucky and blessed for all the wonderful things that I do have. Life is too short to think about all the things you dont have. I had my girls to give me strength and my cats to keep me warm at night and, perhaps deep inside, the dim hope of seeing my mom again. Even if it is just one thing or person you have to be thankful for, that is enough. Yes, I do believe Im lucky. I could not have gotten through my ordeal without believing that someday my life would make sense. Lifes adventure is important. It is important to live each day to its fullest, whatever life brings you.

Me, feeling angry at age eight

First snowman

I t is an ordinary Monday morning school day. I have woken up early this morning of June 10th, 1991. I am waiting for my mom to come in my room before she goes to work to kiss me good-bye. I made a point the night before to remind her to kiss me good-bye.

As I lay in bed waiting, I hear the front door close. She has left. She has forgotten. I guess there is always tonight when she gets home from work to give her a kiss and hug. Im going to remind her that she forgot this morning, though. I lay in bed for a while until my alarm tells me its time to get up. I wait another five minutes and then push myself out of bed. I notice that the ring that I had bought the day before at the craft fair is missing. Darn! I really wanted to wear it to school today. I search my bed to no avail. If I waste any more time, I will be late for the bus and then Carl, my stepdad, will be mad at me and then I would have to ask him for a ride to school. He already thinks I mess everything up; I dont want to give him another excuse not to like me. Sometimes I feel like he is just waiting for another reason to send me away again.

I abandon my search and decide to wear the ring my mom gave me four years ago for my seventh birthday, before she met Carl. My eleven-year-old finger is getting too big for it now, so I dont wear it often. It is made of silver, very tiny and delicate, in the shape of a butterfly to match the birthmark on my right forearm thats almost level with my elbow on the inside of my arm. The ring also has a teeny tiny diamond in the center of the butterfly. I try to slip it on, but it feels tight on the finger I used to wear it on, so I try it on my pinkie and it feels better. I finish dressing. I decide to wear my pink stretch pants and my favorite kitty shirt. It looks cold outside, so I throw on my pink windbreaker. Then I go across the hall to peek in to my baby sisters room. Last night my mom was folding laundry in the babys room and I was sort of helping as I laid on the bed. I used the time to try to convince my mom how much I needed a dog; I guess I was a little annoying. Because she just kept repeating the word No over and over again. Its just I really, really want my own dog. There are puppies down the street from us, and every chance I get I go down there and pet them through the fence. I dont know why I cant have one. The other day I had to write a paper in school about If I had one wish. I wished for my own dog. I would name it Buddy, and he would follow me everywhere and do tricks and love me the most. I really hope my mom will let me have a dog one day.