Before I shock and rock you with what I am about to write about my friggin life I’d like you to watch the video Popsy (BDC) made about me and the sick relationship I had with my father.


I have been depressed since I was six years old. I lost faith in life at age eleven.
Thank God I was put on medication early in my life. I grew up poor, which makes a person feel like a second-class citizen. I remember having the only dirt yard, while the rest of the block had beautiful lawns, regularly sprinkled. But we were “The renters”.

I usually don’t tell a lot about my life, people always react by looking at me like I’m an alien or a terrific liar. It’s probably a little of both. Or alot of one and a little of the other. I know that’s how people used to react. It’s getting better all the time.

Seriously, I was not supposed to live, since I was a toddler. I’ve been through so many near death experiences, I don’t consider them a big deal anymore.

Except when I go through one again, it’s a regular occurrence and remains creepy, at the best description.

I never went to High School or much of Junior High. Yet, I have a bachelor’s degree and 12 credits toward my Masters, which I decided was a waste of my life, because I was so bored, the Master’s endeavor, that is.

The project ‘Mine Has Been No Ordinary Life is a memoir in progress. I’ve been encouraged to present it as fiction, as it seems too unbelievable to be true.

I find this highly ironic yet completely understandable. If I was told my life story, I would shank it off as really bad fiction.

But the problem remains. It’s all true.

The extraordinary experiences I been through leaves most mental health professionals shaking their heads. The same refrain has been repeated so many times, I roll my eyes when I hear it coming. “How the hell are you still alive?”

I don’t know how. I don’t know why And I really don’t care anymore. (Umm, sorry, that’s bullshit, I do care, I care a lot.) I am still here…wherever “here” is. I am as much in the present as the past.

I’ve never had any formal training on the art of poetry, novels, memoirs and the countless of forms of writing. I write to hopefully keep myself alive and let others know they are not alone.

My claim to fame: Survival! And being a total ass.

But really, I want to be rich and famous and be respected so much for my brilliant literature, that it is mandatory reading in an English class, like, To Kill A Mockingbird.
Yes that’s what I really want!

I want to have money out the ying-yang so I can do what I want without people thinking I’m a friggin low life..


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