Chapter 1
This is a lot harder than I thought
it would be. Some would say that I have problems, and they can go fuck
themselves. Only kidding, say what you would like. However, when did the problems
you accuse me of begin: Marine Corps, post Operation Iraqi Freedom, high
school, or at toddler stage? I am going to throw a dart at my past life experiences
and go from there. Dart in air… it landed on rock n roll, again only kidding.
Let me take you back to 1997. Disclaimer: Any people I speak of are coincidental
and purely fictional and were included in this book strictly for the purposes
of me explaining my insanity.
It’s a school day (I’m in high school for those who are poor at math and can’t connect the dots of me being 34 and it being 1997) and I awake in bed with hands around my throat. Now I have an alarm clock but it is from the mechanical variety that makes loud obnoxious noises that wake me from my slumber. So as I awake struggling for breath I figure ‘the machines’ have taken over. I am dragged from my bed, hit the floor, and realize it is not my alarm clock becoming self-aware; rather it is my stepfather strangling me. He lets me go while I still have oxygen in my lungs. So I stumble from my bedroom dazed and confused (say man you got a joint? Be a lot cooler if you did) in survival mode. He catches me at the top of the stairs as I am attempting to escape and throws me against the wall with his hands around my throat once again. Now I am quite certain this human is not my alarm clock. I don’t remember exactly what happened from there except we are both are crying and I can see my mother out of the corner of my eye watching.
It’s a school day (I’m in high school for those who are poor at math and can’t connect the dots of me being 34 and it being 1997) and I awake in bed with hands around my throat. Now I have an alarm clock but it is from the mechanical variety that makes loud obnoxious noises that wake me from my slumber. So as I awake struggling for breath I figure ‘the machines’ have taken over. I am dragged from my bed, hit the floor, and realize it is not my alarm clock becoming self-aware; rather it is my stepfather strangling me. He lets me go while I still have oxygen in my lungs. So I stumble from my bedroom dazed and confused (say man you got a joint? Be a lot cooler if you did) in survival mode. He catches me at the top of the stairs as I am attempting to escape and throws me against the wall with his hands around my throat once again. Now I am quite certain this human is not my alarm clock. I don’t remember exactly what happened from there except we are both are crying and I can see my mother out of the corner of my eye watching.
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