This one’s actually something true… Which is harder than one might think, but I suppose I’ll just start from the beginning, go a little ways, until I find the end.

I was born April 12th, 1989; with an Aries Sun, a Cancer Moon and a Scorpio Rising. It’s not important that you know what those things mean, but if you do know, I think it’s a nice little insight. I was born on a night that I don’t particularly remember the details of, I was a little young for that, but from my 20 years in the town of Tucson, Arizona, I can assume what it was like: A refreshing night at about 80 degrees with not a cloud in the sky, the clean smell of the desert in the springtime where the cacti that actually do bloom are doing there best to provide beauty in a wasteland. I came into the world, and was told about how I was smothered with love from all sides of the family, and an illegal maid as a bonus! I was the first born in a family that would later hold two brothers younger than me, and better than me in a lot of ways. We bickered, but I was always the one in charge. They beat each other up, and I was always the one pulling the fork out of someone’s flesh. Yes, we had bloody battles. Yes, we were abused.

Let me ramble, there's a story, I promise. Just first, let me take you inside my head, what my inner monologue sounds like. Caue what's the point in reading if not that? To delve into another pseron through the crude characters that respresent words, language.

I digress....

....I'll regress.

Abuse takes on a million forms, and it's all a matter of opinion. I mean, there were pleanty of people who didn't think Hitlers ideas (I use the word ideals over actions in his case, he never actually killed them) were abuive, they though the jew/gypsies/homos had id coming. there are pleanty of people suffocated in abuse so deep that they've learned how to reuse the stale air in their lungs for a lifetime.

Personally, I found Yoga, I like deep breathing.

I think everyone should be constantly trying to pick apart their puzzle. If you're not konstantly growing and changing, whats the point of continuing as a being of ever shifting energy. If you're not improving, you should just kill yourself as you are. If you're not gonna earn your wrinkles/laugh lines, then end it before they turn up on their own.

We grew up affluent. I have difficulty openly admitting that, as to not sound pretention. ANd 'cause I'm not counting on benefitting from it anymore... Don't get me wrong, I'm not too proud to take money I haven't really earned. I just don't want anything from them; and I especially don't want to do the things they want me to for them. I've already grown so far. It's been a lot of work, earning my every existing breath by growing and changing and learning. I’m a starving, debt-infused, college dropout at the moment. But I fucking earned it damnit! All three of us were in private Catholic schools for all 12 years, we lived and belonged to a country club, we got whatever we wanted on Christmas and Birthdays, and there was always plenty to eat and entertain ourselves with. You’d think it would be enough; it takes a lot to learn that money isn’t everything though, not matter how many times you hear it.

My parents were blessed with us kids, we’re all fantastically talented, handsome and well-mannered. We all did act up in school, however. I’m not sure if it was dramatized in the strict environment of Catholic school, or that we all really do have something wrong with our brains like the doctors were always telling us, or that we were all just finding ways to make cries for help as loud as we could. I’m still hoping it was the latter, we’ll see after I get my help though.

Because we acted up, we were all diagnosed and drugged... heavily. My mother was always mostly opposed to the medication, and my father was furiously opposed to it. My mother was opposed for health reasons, which I appreciated. My father disagreed for addict reasons, which were irrational… much like all of his reasoning, actually. Every time that we were medicated, it was never for more than a few months at a time, putting stress on our bodies adjusting and readjusting to the chemicals. I would’ve preferred therapy to the medication, but giving me the opportunity to explain to a professional what was going on in our home was probably not what my parents wanted.

My father had a publicly lucrative profession, at the risk of being found out (because I’m a coward under a pseudo name) we’ll just say he was the Mayor. His favorite saying was “what happens in this house, stays in this house.” His favorite punctuation to the end of that kind of statement, was a smack in the face. That’s some A+ parenting right there, it’s a wonder we didn’t give him A+’s in school as a return...

If it sounds like a story of resentment and undealt with pain, it pretty much is. I'm always hurting, always going to therapy, always tryiing to find some new age way of passing off the pain. I'm as weak as he tells me i am. he's a monster.