By the time I had made it to junior high school, my body was already going through stress and trauma, and I had no idea how to deal with it. I was cutting with a compass on my legs and on my upper arms, where people could not see. This gave me something else to think about, other than the words I was hearing all the time. When things were really bad in school, and I couldn’t concentrate, all I had to do was touch one of the spots where I had cut myself, and it would give me something else to focus on. I was lucky if I got a 50s, 60s, or maybe 70s score on a test, and none of the teachers ever asked why I was making such poor marks, what was going on, or why I was where I was at. There never seemed to be any interest. I guess they figured if I wasn’t interested, why should they be? Little did they know, or maybe they didn’t care. Have you ever watched The Polar Express when the little boy gets on and goes to the very back car that’s vacant? That’s me, I’m that little boy. At 63, I’m still that little boy. And still I can hear my mother screaming and throwing and slamming and swearing at everybody and anybody that was in her way. I can hear her telling my father that if she got to do anything in her life before she died, she wanted to see him dead before her. She wanted to mentally and physically put him in his grave; she didn’t want him to know peace while he was alive. Now I feel like I’m my father. I don’t know how he did it, I don’t know how he worked, I don’t know how he rebuilt a house. How I miss Dad, and realize that I am now him. This is now my third time knowing I’m not good enough, smart enough, funny enough, I’m just not enough. If you’re reading this, don’t do this to someone you’re with. Don’t text somebody on the phone for hours and hours on Christmas Eve and let your husband, wife or partner sit there and watch, not knowing what’s going on. Have the balls and decency to speak up. You have to realize that someone in the headspace now, like I am, we don’t always see what is right in front of our face. For that, I am sorry.
Chapter One: It Begins
I came into this world on October 31st 1962, to a family that should never have had children. If my mother were alive today and had a psychologist look at her, they would deem her bipolar and more. My mother was a chameleon with the ability to scream, throw, and...
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