Well my brothers, I have been a MGTOW for well over a year now, and I have been on this site for a little over a month. I just felt the urge to tell all of you a little more about myself, and how I came to fruition. I want to preface this by saying my childhood was ridden with anguish, anger, and bitter confusion. I grew acclimated to a very nomadic lifestyle as I would often move to different foster homes and orphanages, often without my consent. Now that I have that out of the way, I wanted to give everyone here some insight into my past. Just a fair warning this may be graphic and long winded. I plan on continuing the rest of my story, if more of you fellas would enjoy that. I guess just let me know. Here it goes…
I was a child with a very troubled and dark past. To begin, I had an alcoholic father, and a Bi-polar, crack addicted mother. My biological mother conceived me at the age of 16, and attempted two self-administered abortions, which thankfully were botched. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be making this post… Needless to say, my parents are prime examples of genetic failures. As far the genetic pool is concerned, I was given probably the worst hand one could ever receive. Despite this, I was relatively precocious as a child. My earliest recollection of everything was at the age of 6. I was innocent, yet I had enough mental acuity to realize that my situation was not ideal. I had this strange foreboding feeling that things were not right with the world. That there was possibly even something wrong with me… I would remember kids in elementary school talking about how their mom/dad bought them this and that, and how they loved their parents,etc.. For me there was never really any of that… Home for me was a living hell. Most nights consisted of my mom cussing and fist fighting with my dad. Often times my siblings and I would take the brunt of her rage. I have facial scars to prove it… A good night was when I could sneak home, and find my mom passed out on the couch. The crack leaving her in a prolonged state of comatose. Those were unfortunately the best days I remember with her. I was a very broken child to say the least. There were days I simply wouldn’t come home out of fear. On those days, I found tranquility and peace by going out in nature. It is by no surprise that my favorite color is green. With nature I was able to see new life, new opportunity, and freedom. I was enamored by animals and how they didn’t judge me. In many ways I envy their ignorance. Nature accepts you as you are despite your inequities or short comings, so I tried to emulate her. She was my mother… However, the same couldn’t be said for my “REAL” mother. She would incessantly remind me that I was “her mistake”, and at the time I couldn’t comprehend what she meant. It was until I reached adolescence that I truly understood that statement. This was the seed that sprouted my self- inquiry and self-doubt. If my mother doesn’t love me, then what was my purpose? Does anyone truly LOVE ME? Mind you I was only 6 years old at this time. I was very perplexed since kids would drone on and on about their parents in school, yet mine weren’t even home at times… I accepted this to be my NORMAL I guess… Anyway, there was one day that will live forever in infamy. This was the day I realized that nothing is immune to withering away. That everything in this life is ephemeral, and fleeting.
I recall when I was 8 years old, that I had grown accustomed to being numb. To not feeling at all. It was better this way. I no longer had the comfort of Mother Nature to alleviate my woes. I had grown to be cynical with my heart becoming ever more calloused like a geode. At this point, my parents kept my 2 sister and I living in a small dilapidated 2 bedroom apartment. Obviously this was inadequate for a 5 person family. Regardless, that Christmas Eve, changed everything for me. At the time I didn’t realize my parents didn’t have money to afford presents. They were much too busy using it on the important stuff: booze, cigarettes and drugs. This was the reason that my mother and father were really at it this day. My mom was throwing dishes and various objects across the room. I had learned when things got heated to leave the house. I would normally take my slightly younger sister, Amber, (7) to go outside with me. It was best this way… But this day was different. I could sense the desperation in my mother’s tone. She was really losing it… Amber was crying, but I told her to just look at me, and roll the ball toward me. I did everything I could to shield her from it… I tried… O God I tried… My mother went ballistic and starting slashing her wrist in front of us. I was utterly shocked. My father attempted to wrestle the knife out of my mother’s hand, but she slashed at him. Finally all the fighting ceased. All went silent… My mother stabbed my father. It happened so fast, yet so slow. It was like I was an in real movie but only in time lapse. I watched in horror as my father stumbled onto the carpet. I saw true resentment for the first time in my mother’s eyes. My mother sporadically ran into the kitchen to fetch her prescription pills, and I watched her down half the bottle. In her in disillusionment, she locked herself in the bathroom sobbing. I was kneeling in awe watching my father die right before my eyes. His blood soaked my hand and clothes. I didn’t think this was real. I would wipe my eyes thinking this would all be a dream, but I couldn’t remove the blood from my hands. I couldn’t even move. I knew to call 911, but I was still in shock. Reality hadn’t yet set in. My sister was crying and went banging on our neighbor’s door. They called the paramedics, and my father was life flighted, thus saving his life. My mother was in ICU for overdosing on prescription pills. This was my life…
I questioned; would things ever get any better???
To be continued… (Part 2)
Fuck bitches... literally and metaphorically
Anonymous 2 years, 10 months ago.
