I suppose I have to dance for you people before I get any kind of humanity. Okay. So here it goes. I was born to a poor family. We had nothing. We never went on vacation. I never had a birthday party. I never had anything of substance. I was born the only child of two punk rockers who didn’t much care to have a child. I was beaten up and molested by babysitters and their kids. I watched on as my father got drunk every night, and verbally abused my mother and I. I’m not going to lie, I feel like nobody gives a shit. Period. My mother and father were very selfish, very self-centered people who only cared about getting drunk, high, or laid. As a child, I watched on as they criticised each other. As they focused all their energy into their fucked up relationship. I was just some kid they had to deal with. I was never once made to feel special. I was always the one to break up their fights. Well, the fight finally ended when my drunk father left us one day to fend for ourselves. Not like he was bringing in any money. He was a drunk and lazy and entitled. He lived off of my mother, paid no rent, or bills, and this was my father figure. Someone who couldn’t fucking stand up and go to work. I just don’t have the patience or time to justify asking for this financial help. Please. If you have a heart. I was born to a crazy family of idiots and assholes. I am an only child. Shame on this personal level could not be felt by siblings that simply did not exist. I was alone. I AM still alone. After my upbringing and solitude and the out right abuse and molestation by people who were supposed to be my babysitters. After years of torture and years of neglect, and seeing the waste side of this fucking planet Earth, when scum procreates and has offspring of their own. I just wanted to have a nice and normal life without all the horrors that I have endured. My father left us. He sent me suicide notes in the mail. He showed up multiple times after he left. Once he had a razor blade. He held it to his throat and swore he would kill himself right in front of me. He showed up at my job. When I was 17 years old, and he told me he was going to kill himself in front of all my coworkers. Mind you, this was after he had already shown his drunk and depressed face around my high school graduation. This was after he had almost died in front of my eyes on multiple occasions. I just want to fucking kill myself after the lonely and depressing life I have led because of this man, and because my mother pretty much disregarded me ever since, as the bastard child who came from this messed up relationship with my father. He did kill himself. He jumped off a bridge in my hometown. It made the front page of my local newspaper. BODY FOUND read the headline. Suddenly, every secret shame I felt was public information. My father was dead. They had a picture of him in a black body bag on the front page. I still, to this day, have to drive over that bridge, and remember what it means to me. My whole life is at the bottom of that bridge. My mother, she moved on. She doesn’t care about me. I find myself wrapped in a cocoon of degradation and just what kind of butterfly do you expect me to become? I seriously just need some money because I now have two children of my own, and I’m all screwed up mentally from these horrors. If you are giving out money, and need a story to motivate that process, let me tell you. I never even had an opportunity. Not one single fucking chance at a nice and normal life with happiness, or friends. My children, to be honest, I’m divorced because my wife cheated on me. I am raising two boys, by myself, and I am not even 100% sure that they are my boys. I fucking hate my life, and if that isn’t a prerequisite to asking for help, I don’t know what is. I am broken. I am hurt. I am under immense scrutiny of those other people in life who still have two living parents, and don’t know the first thing about suffering or loss. Just imagine every single greatest moment in your life, and now imagine that you are me, and that those great and happy moments and memories do not exist because of how terrible reality is. When you are not rich. When you are not special. When you’re alive because two assholes didn’t use protection. Imagine your father commits suicide, as mine has, and then your mother says shit like she’s done with you. That she hopes your father is burning in hell for how YOU turned out, because of HER poisonous relationship with him. I mean, just give me some money. What the hell? I do not see how me telling you all this should be the only reason you would even consider helping me. Life hurts. It’s unfair. Friends become enemies. Family becomes enemies. And all the death and destruction in between. While YOU got to have normal people raising you, and YOU got to benefit from that by not being so mentally screwed up that you were able to succeed. I will never be happy. EVER. But I am alive. I am a father. I do live on planet Earth and have responsibilities, no matter how justified my sob story is, a landlord isn’t going to give a shit. I still have to be normal when it comes time to pay my price for living even a baseline life with minimal food. We never do anything as a family. We never go on vacations. We never even go out to eat. I live a very secluded and horrible life and I just want a fucking chance God damn it! Help me! Help us! I didn’t get a free car, a free house, a free ride. I know that a lot of you did. I know that so many of you had a great childhood. You were blessed with great friends and better opportunities. Stuff that I could only dream of, you had handed to you on a silver plate. I want my fucking turn! I want to have a nice and normal life too! I am asking, begging, pleading for help. Everyone is fucking dead! Nobody is left. I need help! This is so unfair! People who are terrible, awful human beings get to live these wonderful lives, and full lives, and they just can’t even comprehend someone like me who has always known he was NOTHING special to ANYONE. To be honest with you all, without immediate help, I see myself dead in a year. I see my children carrying on this legacy of immense shame and guilt and becoming losers because my parents were losers who turned me into a fucking loser. I still have hope. I still have a little spark. A twinkle of everything will end up okay in the end. I don’t know why the hell that is.
I just want the same chance awarded to all the rest of you entitled people addicted to your parents money. Sorry if this sounds cyncial. In my experience, people who know nothing of personal horror or grief have a grand old fucking time laughing at the misfortune of someone like me. And I just can’t shake the feeling that begging people like that for a hand out is just going to lead the way to further mockery. Furthering my disgust. I want, truly, for one well off person with money to hear my screams of torture, and help me. I can’t wrap up 32 years of my life into one neat little ball. I can only tell you that it was a nightmare, it’s still a nightmare, and I would do absolutely anything to have had the privileged life that some of you have. I wanted to be a famous actor. A famous musician. I have talent. I just don’t have one friend in the whole world. I’m DYING here. I’m going to shoot myself in the fucking head if I don’t have one fucking chance!
As of right now, I am negative in my bank account. My kids think everything is going to be okay. I don’t know how to tell them. Boys. Life isn’t made for us. We are the losers of society. We are poor and meaningless. And they will find out. They will know, we aren’t part of any community. We aren’t normal, regular people. We are the ones who get talked about. We are the ones who get left out. Not because we are secondary citizens. But because our own family, what is left of them, simply doesn’t care that we’ve had nothing but horror. Nobody wants to talk to us. They want to talk about us.