My Narcissistic Stalker Friend (Incident 1)

My Childhood

Dear reader,
I'll give you a glimpse into my past and I hope you can get an idea of what kind of person I have been in the past, what kind of person I am right now,while I write this down and who I'll be in the future.
                  ____________________

I am a country child, the daughter of a wonderful woman and a man I would not call my father even if my live depended on it.
Luckily my mother, let's call her Silvi, my 4 years younger half-sister Anne and I I've about 6 Kilometers (~3.72miles) from the nearest village, on the farm of my mother's "new" partner, the man I proudly call my father, even if biologically he is not.
In this Story I will  call him Kurt to avoid confusion between my father and my biological "father", who we will call Kevin. My mom left Kevin when I was a baby, but I was still under a year old when we moved in with Kurt on the farm. 4 years after me, my half-sister Anne was born in 2005 and completed our little family.

I spent most of my time roaming around the farm, riding with Papa Kurt on the tractor, although I kept hitting my head and needed to wear a helmet. Other activities included getting in the way of my Grandma while she was milking and asking stupid questions that never were answered. I taught the farm dog nonsense and tried to prove to the cats that a dip in the pool is something nice, only to fall into bet at night with countless new scratches and hundreds of bruises,the origin of which, even for me,should forever remain a secret.
My childhood consisted of an incredible number of animals. There were the stable cats roaming free,my mother's dream horse, for which she had saved money for so long, the many cattle, the dangerous bull who was actually peaceful als long as you sat in his back and scratched him with all your strength, our border collie with black and white fur and all those tiny little black dots on its feet, the swans that breed every year in the field in front of my window and drive me crazy with theyr screeching, the Marten living in our attic, that I affectionately called the Marten bear and of course a colorful and countless selection of the fattest flies, which of course somehow made theyr way into the house but never found theyr way out again.