Scars And Smiles

CHAPTER ONE

As a child, a young boy, lots of things made no sense to me. Many theories, facts, sayings and even something as simple as a punctuation mark had very little meaning or at all any point of use. It had no matter.
  In that particular time, there was no meaning, to me, that anything was of importance. In that case, there was no meaning, to me, that an ellipsis was in any way important.
 
It was unclear to me that three dots at the end of a sentence were important or even had to be used, because the full stop was already doing the job of ending a sentence properly.
  Apparently the ellipsis stood as a symbol or expression of not finishing a sentence, interruption or when something is to be continued.

Or well, that's what I've been taught at school and basically anywhere where writing, the English language or punctuation is a discussion.
  In that matter, referring to the ellipsis, I could still remember the English lesson given to my class and me.

I can remember the explanation that the teacher gave us. The importance of using puntuation correctly and I remember her exact words, said by my English teacher,
   "An ellipsis is used in many different ways in writing but preferably only used when a person or character did not finish a sentence."

Surprisingly, those words clung onto my thoughts for a long time, although it made sense. It kind of felt weird thinking that something as common as three dots at the end of a sentence will bother me like it did.
  For quite a while I struggled to get the ellipsis off my mind, and it was not easy to get it out of my thoughts, it felt like it hooked onto my conscience and burned its name and meanings into my brain, to haunt me.

It was frustrating that I could get pretty much nothing done without the ellipsis crawling back to me, making me compare things with- and thinking about everything in terms with the ellipsis.
  But through the huge confusing fight to remove the ellipsis from my thoughts, I wondered more about these three dots, I tried to find more out of it than what than what it actually appears to be.

I felt like it was of more purpose than what it looked like to everyone, more than its current meaning, more than its little appearance, more than what people use it for. It felt like it was more than just a writing technique.
  It was as if it had more of a symbol than what people expect it to be, more meaning of it, better than in dictionaries and writing pieces.

It had a unclear sign of more extraordinary meaning.

Anyway. Now that I have shared a long-explaining confusion of my past, I would like to introduce myself more appropriately.
  I am Tony Gibson and I will be narrating the broken life I have lived in my past. The life as a baby boy, a child, a teenager and the life that moulded me into being the grown up man, I am today.

A true story of my own. A tale of horrors and pain, which took long to turn into sunshine and rainbows.
  In the painful time of my childhood, I got cut deeply (physically and mentally) and those cuts turned into big, deep wounds, and those wounds eventually healed and turned into big scars, and as they say,
  "Scars tell a story."

In that case; I have a lot of stories to tell then. As well as scars, I have a lot of tattoos, covering my body.
  Judgemental questions always ask:
"Why so many tattoos?"

Well there are two answers to that question.

1. To hide my scars.
2. Like scars, some tattoos have a story behind them.

And just so, my tattoos tell stories in which my scars failing in describing and seize to explain.
  They all tell stories of where I was dwelling at my lowest, but yet rised in my strongest times. They tell stories of things that are special to me, that has been taken, and replaced with a permanent vinyl on my chest.

Well enough about my boring details. I should probably start telling you, why I have so many scars and tattoos.
  And to find the origin of a scar, is to go back and see how it's done.
The origin of a scar: A open cut, wound.

Most of my childhood's pain was caused by my father. He was a complete drunk and alwayd use to hit the shit out of me, smacking and swinging at me with anything he could get in his hands. And after our "father-son-time" I was full of cuts and bruises all over my body, barely able to move without experiencing the same pain all over again.

My mother was the closest to me, she was always there for me, we had a connection and a tight bond. My father, obviously, made sure that she could do nothing to protect me as a baby boy, and he hit her around just as well as me.

My parents fought day and night, not devourcing each other, but rather staying unhappy in a miserable, old and unwealthy home. And to be honest, the last time I saw them smiling at each other was on one of their wedding photos.

Then of course more of my mental scars were caused through most of the bullies I had as a boy, because of my size. As a kid, I was very small built, which automatically painted a bullseye on me for bigger, older and cowardly children, picking on the weak and defenseless.
  Of course I didn't want to stess up my mom any more than she is, so I couldn't ask someone to help me or at least have someone to talk to. I burried everything inside of myself and ignored everything as much as I could.

But once, I just felt like I already had enough, and I stood up for myself. I exploded and all of a sudden I found enough courage to deal with my problem. I found the courage and strength to fight back. I did, quite violently.
  I was never picked on since my big locker room fight in seventh grade (which almost got me expelled and almost forced me into paying medical for the rest of my year.)

And I never enjoyed fighting, that was not fun to me at all. It's not a choice I wanted to take, I just had no other way!
  That's pretty much everything in the two categories in which I experienced the only feelings I have ever known, anger and pain.

There are a lot more times in my story where I'd felt pain in all ways possible, and through my life I have seen horrible, unbearable and evil things that left a mark in my memory, haunting me till today.
  I have seen and dealt with terrifying and the most darkest things anyone could ever imagine. An infinite size of pain, disease and even death itself.

So to repeat myself, I am no Prince Charming narrating a fairy tale full of magical and mystical wonders. I am Tony Gibson narrating the reality of a broken life.