Rich man's Hell, Poor man's Heaven

ENTRY ONE

Disclaimer

This poor-quality autobiography is a best-account description of how I came up with the title of this log of my perceived existence. There will be hard things to read in my recalling, so please keep this brief disclaimer in mind as you venture forth.

ENTRY ONE

I decided I am going to try again to write an autobiography of my life, seeing the event series that cradled me all the way to this very day that I stand. Now, this log is called entry one, because I assume I will take several entries to open my mind to the reader as we both wander into the crevices and caverns of my perceived experiences, from this very moment, until I decide to share my log publicly. With this being the start of that journey, I hope you enjoy what comes next...

I don't remember my childhood much; only bits and pieces of where I started. To keep from over-detailing what I have a hard time remembering, I will, in a very layman-esque style, describe my life. I do remember growing up very optimistic. I had fancied fantasy, exploring the realm of imagination and seemingly impossible scenarios or concepts. I believe that because I perceived the world in a way in which fantasy seemed to be a colorful way of looking at reality, I trusted that whatever problems came through life were only leading to a positive conclusion. My love of fantasy came from animation and games.

I grew up with only a few of my siblings, and I depended on my oldest full-blooded sister. I was the oldest of my mother's children and the second oldest of my father's children; a half-brother of mine being the oldest. I and my sister treated each other almost like we were the same person, but we argued a lot. My way and her way were like paths that bowed into each other occasionally. I think we were so close because of how we grew up. We always forgave each other, and usually fast. I was a peculiar kid, always thinking and looking for answers. My sister was very shy but had high hopes and dreams.

I think we struggled to make friends with kids our age, because we struggled to relate to the things they enjoyed, me more than her. It wasn't only the children who disliked me and my sister, but there were occasions where adults found me, and thus her, problematic. I didn't understand social cues well, so if I were asked a question, it never crossed my mind to not give a possible answer. Because of this, my biggest complaint was that I always had an excuse for everything. Today I look back and disagree that my responses were excuses because not every question that was asked seemed like an accusation.

I was protective of my sister, and she depended on me. When we were ridiculed, she trusted my optimism. Maybe it wasn't optimism, because sometimes my answer was to isolate ourselves from anyone we doubted and to trust each other, since I had no intention of keeping secrets from her. We had a vow to each other, to never keep secrets from each other, no matter what. Part of our trust in each other came from our willingness to be open with one another, but this also is part of the reason we argued so much. We were so close that people would produce a perverted judgment of what was causing our closeness. Some people predicted that I and my sister had an incestual bond, and that was why we were so close, but they did not know I struggled with homosexuality throughout my past.

My sister knew I was attracted to the same sex, because I shared it with her, not as if it was something I was hiding, but as if I were no different than her. If I saw a handsome male, I would share my attraction to them with her. Typically, we agreed on preference and would rave with each other about it. This would happen long ago before I was taller than the knees of most adults. We believed we were so much alike that we would roleplay as sisters because it seemed to feel closer to the truth. I remember telling my sister that I was a girl trapped inside a boy's body because I felt more like a girl than a boy. Being able to perceive differences well at that time, I knew enough to know that I was different, despite how I felt. Females I saw were always paired with males, and the affection they would show one another seemed to be the affection I wanted.

I don't know when I originally realized my attraction to males, but I do know it had to be before I was sharing it with my sister. I was a young child. I know it had to be after my sexual assault experience. To save you from too much heartbreak, I will simplify my experience as much as possible. A 'blood scorpion' tried to sting me, but then once the stinger almost stung, it let me go, because I wasn't malleable, and I would obviously react to the stinger's sting. I was young enough that when I was instructed to prepare for what was about to happen, I did it without much question, but old enough to remember what happened in relatively good detail; young enough that my legs did not touch the edge of a couch, but big enough to ask questions. I think this traumatic foundation shaped the way I viewed men, but I didn't know what happened was a traumatic or bad thing until I was much older. To me, I was just listening to someone I was expected to trust.

I shared that because I experienced perversion before I was old enough to understand my male sex and trust how it was created to be used. With that being said, I related to the emasculation I experienced, the unnatural position I was instructed into. I grew up in a very dysfunctional family and would see that 'scorpion' throughout my life, ceasing after my mother's funeral in '19. Adult films were introduced to me at an age not far from before, through other kids who knew about perverted things way before they could see its perversion. Weaving that with what happened to me, and some other problems, and you have a little boy who cannot tell the difference between the roles of different sexes, and the gifts that come with that.

I and my sister were aware that people assumed we were incestual, but we knew my secret. We also knew that people did not like femininity, in men and in general. Femininity seemed to be seen as primarily sexual and necessary for a particular process, whereas masculinity seemed to be positional, influential, and substantial. Seeing femininity in men, using the perspective gained from where I grew up, was treated like the death of an entire lineage. Femininity in men is like a cursed omen of sexual bankruptcy. This loathing belief influenced aggression in the people around me.

Because people saw traits categorized as effeminate in me, I was threatened with murder. They concluded that effeminate displays were a sign of homosexuality, and if I displayed same-sex attraction, I should be killed, no matter my age. This didn't come from people who did not know me, but people who did know me, who were given the role to care for me, and to protect me. At these times, I learned that if I kept my homosexuality to myself, they'd excuse my femininity, to an extent. I was not allowed to agree with my femininity or disregard the emotions people displayed due to it.

Naturally, I grew disdain towards this world and the people I was surrounded with, due to this palpable hatred people had for these feelings I didn't think I had much control over. My sister became my only ally, for a long time, and because she looked at me as herself, I could depend on our bond as a strength in my life. This is not to say I didn't struggle onward despite that hope. There were times when our relationship had bumps.

There were times when I hated how we were mad at each other and I would react as if I would stop my life because I depended on her, and she would have these moments too. We would also struggle with sudden fits of malice towards each other and even others, because of our living situations and unseen circumstances. Although we loved each other and wanted the best for each other, we had a toxic relationship. Experiencing neglect as children, failed promises of liberation and abundance, projected hatred, and second-hand hatred. Isolation and poverty. Oppressions that were seemingly supernatural, restricting, and even traumatic, abuse of different kinds...it made sense why we children were so chaotic, but nonetheless, it cannot excuse the behavior.

Despite that, I have been very fortunate. I grew up thinking downtown was a different city. Suburbs didn't even exist in my perception until I was a teenager. I grew up around people who had some similarities to me that held some superficial bonds. My culture and ethnicity seemed to be my community's focus, from a hive perspective. The people who fill up my cultural family believed the people who seemed different from us were the focus of all our misfortunes, and thus before I was born, prejudices and discrimination bloomed like a fertile spring garden.