My dad kept telling me I smelled awful and made me take cold showers with a specific bar of soap—sometimes five times a day. My skin burned, and I started questioning myself. My mom said nothing, which was strange since we were close.
One day, my boyfriend Silas came over. When I asked if I smelled bad, he laughed, saying I smelled like shampoo and honey. But then he went to the bathroom and came out pale, holding the soap.
“Who gave you this? Are you using it in the shower?” he asked, visibly shaken.
I said yes, and he started crying. “This isn’t soap—it’s formalin. It’s used to preserve dead bodies.”
I was horrified. I found the package—tiny print, no brand, labeled “Preservative Use Only.” I felt sick.
When I confronted my dad, he didn’t deny it. He just said, “You needed it.” He believed the chemical was keeping me alive.
That night, my mom gave me documents showing I’d been declared stillborn at birth—but I miraculously came back to life. My dad saw it as a sign and convinced himself my body needed preserving. The cold showers and formalin were his way of “protecting” me.
With Silas’s support, I contacted a counselor and CPS. I was legally an adult, so I couldn’t be removed, but an investigation was opened. My dad was evaluated—he wasn’t hateful, just deeply traumatized and mentally unwell.
My mom quietly filed for divorce. I moved on—cut my hair, got a job, and started healing. The scars on my body and mind are slowly fading.
What I’ve learned: love twisted by fear can still be dangerous. Silence isn’t safety. If something feels wrong—ask, speak, trust your instincts.
You deserve truth. You deserve healing.
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