In case you are wondering, yeah, I was named after that fucking Beach Boys song. If that's not bad enough, consider this:
When I was a little girl, whenever my father got drunk he would sing it to me, and try to dance with me, pulling me by my arms like I was his marionette, and encouraging me to sing it with him. My arms would burn, and I'd be worried that my dad was accidentally going to rip them out of their sockets.
My mom left us when I was eight, and then my dad started getting drunk more often. Now when he sang the song, he'd start crying because the lyrics had become like a premonition of our sorry lives - me as a stand in for mother, my looks constantly reminding him of the woman he loved, the woman who had so mercilessly abandoned him, but also the only person in his miserable life who cared whether he lived or died.
My father loved me very much, and I want to make it absolutely clear that he NEVER sexually abused me. But when I look back on things now, as an adult, and I remember him staggering into my room with a bottle of gin in his hands, singing, "Help me, Rhonda, yeah, get her out of my heart," I think that it was only an intense and ongoing battle against his internal demons that kept me safe in those years.
Of course most people don't know all this backstory, and they are constantly asking whether I am named after the song. Regardless of my answer, they will often sing a few bars to me. As you can imagine, I don't much care for this.