It's hard to say , but I think I was a fairly normal child, my family was average, my parents were young. No one ever took a lot of interest in what I did so I just did. Somewhere along the way things got sideways. I started sneaking out, drinking, fighting , doing drugs, younger than a person would normally expect. My Mom send me to my Dad in June of 1988 because I was just too far gone for her. I was suicidal or homicidal most of the time. I detoxed in a small bedroom where I had tinfoiled the windows and slowly began to heal from the horrible things I had done to myself and the pain I had caused others.
Sadly as the drugs left my system I was faced with a new reality. There were demons in my blood I couldn't tame. I had no idea how to cope with the inky darkness lapping at my hands and feet and the effects of the horrible things I had seen and done. My first depressive episode of record struck my like an atomic bomb. I explained to the school counsellor, as I have explained to many since that I am not afraid to die ... moreso, I am afraid to live.
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