I was born at 3:33am in a rundown hospital in downtown Detroit. As soon as I was brought into this world, I took my first life. My mother. Giving birth to me killed my birthmother during the process. I spent my first year in a hypersensitive oxygen chamber. Fun times. During this period my genetic father was busy murdering and raping various women in the Metro area. The name they used to describe this unknown enity was only muttered amungst the local and federal law enforcement agencies. My first year, what a helluva way to start.
I was never released to the custody of my birth father of course, mostly due to not being able to find him. So when I left the hospital for the first time at age 2, it was to a foster family. Of course I cannot remember any of this and only go by what I have been told and what I have read.
My earliest memory was age 5. I do not remember what led up to this moment, or what exactly happend. But the records I have state I was admitted to Hawthorn Mental Hospital from kindergarden. The record states what caused the evaluation and admittance was due to a straight edge razorblade, a student missing an ear and a teacher hospitalized with a concussion from a chair. Thats the summerized version.
I remember everyday of that five years I was hospitalized. Cinderblock walls were my domain and I was always in trouble for on reason or another. The really bad things I did, caused me to be locked in a 8x15 stone room with no windows, one steel door and a camera behind plexiglass in the ceiling. No one had ever escaped from those rooms, besides myself. Although I never made it far, it scared the hell out of the staff. To me, they were my captors, my prey. I knew the consequences of my actions, yet still ignored them. The only time I followed the rules, was to play them into a trap or convince them I was "normal" again. I sent many of them to the medics, a few quit working there all together.
Seeing those I knew hang themselves, talk about family that sexually abused them, slice their arms wide open to where they cannot be saved in time. It is something I wish amung no living creature to have to endure. Not at such a young age, no matter what actions they caused. When I did take the medication, I was a zombie. When I sold my medication, I was a nightmare. Those in my cell were afraid to sleep at night with me around, because I would not sleep. Would not blink. Could not rest. What worried everyone the most, was when I acted on my own. But my social skills were so crafty, I could convince others to do things for me without getting blamed for it. So every other day I would spend my time in a solitare cell, many times for days with only the littlest ammounts of food and water and to be let out under heavy escort to use the bathroom. Imagine prison, for insane little kiddies...
