The story of my wretched past…, unfourtantly for me, I have a photographic memory, except for some reason the story of my beginning… They say in Jamaica, people would normally be executed for something as foul in nature as this. My father, he was a great father, I enjoyed spending time with him. I was only five when my mind became aware so to speak. Anyways, my father liked to drive very fast, to make things worse; we lived in Brooklyn at the time. This is a very bad thing because cars usually line the roads and the streets were very narrow… needless to say… he was in multiple wrecks. I recall him returning one evening with his bare skull exposed… that is where the man I knew as “Daddy”…, died. That man changed after that, he began abusing my mother, beating her an inch within her life, raped my sister… and finally… he came after me… my mind turns blank, I woke in a hospital with him in prison, but I remember the beginning of the dreaded night, I cannot remember what, but I’m certain he did something to me…, but like every story like this, it links to a last problem in my life, yep.. A “suicide” problem, but I’ll write about that later, seeing as this will be a very lengthy chapter to write about, 11 years of hardship...
