The Menu

What makes you angry?

Careless grammar, spelling and punctuation mistakes.

Nagging.

Misunderstanding.

Inability to explain on my part.

Inability to articulate.

Malevolence.

Irrational behavior.

Incompetence.

My mom.

What are you afraid of?

The future. My future.

A life in poverty.

Pain.

Stress.

Romantic relationships.

My dad.

My brother, for becoming my dad.

What hurts?

Memories of living with my dad.

Memories involving my family.

Memories of past relationships.

The past in general.

Careless mistakes.

A loss of hope.

What really changed you?

First, working 30 hours a week during last year, my Junior year (of high school), while living with my father - a careless, detached, malevolent, abusive, newly-unemployed, newly-un-medicated bipolar fiend. Coming home at 11pm most weeknights to desolation and recklessness. Being terrified of him - being terrified of the future - for not having a job. Becoming completely financially independent against my will. Hating every piece of my life more and more as the days dragged on. Having less and less power over my situation. Falling farther and farther behind in school. Slowly losing all hope for the distant future. Losing hope for getting into a good school. Losing hope for a decent career. Losing hope for happiness. Once a straight-A student with high hopes for Berkeley, Carleton, Boston University, I became a hopeless, sorry, self-pitying wage slave at the age of sixteen.

On top of that, being arrested the spring of that year (that is, spring 2009) after assault on my father's part and his consequent delirious lies. Spending five hours in an detached iron-walled cell in a Juvenile Intake Center in downtown Minneapolis. Not knowing where I was going next. Not knowing how long I had been there. Crying, bawling for hours and hours with no answers, no compassion. There was dried, caked blood smeared on the walls. I became temporarily insane. I reasoned for a long time and came to the conclusion that suicide would soon be my only reasonable option for an end to the madness. I forced myself to envision my best friend, Ben, as vividly as possible, with his rough, black beard and bright pink mohawk, hugging me tightly and telling me it was going to be okay, that I was loved. I cried. I cried. I cried.

Later, I was handcuffed again and taken to a Juvenile Detention Center. I spent a tearful, sleepless, shameful night there, hating myself between the tears and beginning to believe my dad's horrible, horrible lies. I thought I was a monster. The entire time I was there, I forgot I was the victim. My entire life changed very quickly after this.

(Yuck. I'm sorry. Dramatic stuff.)