to be a

dead ringer

for Truth

Dignity

and all the

Good

of our

voice

over

humanity.

I am old now, I do not much intend to add to these pages. While I hope to live many years more as an old retired man —married, happy, and surrounded by love— I don't know what the future holds. I never did. Looking back on my life, as I have done to write this book, I see so clearly the mistakes I have made on countless occasions. And if I am being honest, I would change many things in my life if I could. But the older I get, and the more I think about it, the more I realize that I have made my mistakes and overthrown them. I am who I am because of my mistakes and achievements alike. After all, I would not be sitting here at all, if I had not made the mistake of becoming a writer.

I used to have heroes.

My father was a hero. Tall, strong, with wide shoulders that carried the insurmountable burdens, both heavy and light with a smile. A smile that light up the house like a moon in the night. He was the reason that our life turned to be successful.

My mother was a hero. Kind, beautiful, stern. She was the light that guide through the dark, with endless patience and understanding of her children. She was the reason we learned to be happy.

I used to have heroes. Heroes that weren’t considered heroes. The people that hated me, the people that dislike me. They were the painful part of my existence at one point but they were what made me grow.

I used to have heroes. People who guide me, gave me wisdom when I needed to. They weren’t my parents but they took the effort.

What made up the my life was an array of heroes, both disguised as tragedy and bliss. What made a human who he is today isn’t a one man job but a thousand men.

I used to have heroes and I’m glad to know that they were in my life once a upon a time, carving out the beauty that I would represent in my life.

Thank you, my past heroes.

you pretend that it never happened

but i know you’ll never stop remembering.

that you are one of the many reasons

that my heart keeps trembling.

because of all your faults,

that you perceived as mine.

i was only an innocent child

but not in your eyes.

because of all the words you’ve said

repeated on a daily basis.

the angry marked walls that had never faded

and my arms that were red from your grasp.

the floor hurt more when i fell because of you.

unable to breathe because at school it happened too.

you could’ve at least pretended to care

or let me know that you did.

sadly, you were too oblivious to notice

how badly i was suffering.

because i was so tired of running

and done with always being locked in.

i could never understand why it was just me

or how i was never good enough.

crying out to god asking what i did wrong

and my only answer was the oxygen in my lungs.

i knew you saw how much i could wreck

in such little time.

how much louder i had screamed,

the way my ribs started to poke out,

and still you never listened to me.

you only heard my tone of voice

but not my heartfelt words.

to this day i could never forget

because i still wince at the sound.

how much i hate when you’re

angry and around.

but if only you could’ve been more.

more fragile with my bones,

forgiving on my mistakes,

and gentle on my soul.

maybe i wouldn’t be so afraid.

not of you,

but that one day i’ll act that way too.

I got most of my education from what people like to call an "alternative school", which basically just translates to "school with no rules". We had 1 hallway, 60 students, and 4 teachers who we all called by their first names. We would often host community lunches, during which all 60 of us would squeeze into a single classroom and eat food that we had made.

During one of these lunches I was sitting with my girlfriend at a table that we had managed to snag from the crowd. We were talking, flirting, eating off each other's plates - just being real gross in general. There was a cup of water on the table and, assuming that it was my girlfriend's, I took a sip. I figured there wouldn't be a problem with that.

There was a problem with it.

As I took a few more sips from the cup, I noticed one of my teachers staring me down from the serving table. I caught her eye, confused as to why she was giving me such a dirty look, and lifted the cup to my lips once again.

This went on for a while, the teacher staring at me as I drunk self consciously. Neither of us broke eye contact. I figured it was the natural progression of our stare down when she began to walk towards me.

She was a small woman, but looming over me she seemed much bigger than possible. I placed the cup back on the table and craned my head up to see her properly.

After taking a few moments to assert her dominance, my teacher bellowed out the scariest words I have heard in my life:

"Why are you drinking from my mug?"

It's no surprise to me that my girlfriend broke up with me soon after that incident.

My personality type is INFP, or introversion, intuition, feeling, and perception. This means that I am an idealist who looks for the good in everyone, which does seem like me. Sometimes, I just want to see past the labels placed on everyone which can get me in a lot of trouble with some not-so-good people. I am also very shy, according to my personality type which again, holds true to my real personality. Because of this, I have trouble opening up to people and keep to myself more often than I probably should. I have trouble connecting with other people and hate being the center of attention. I just care too much about what other people think of me and would rather stay silent than say something stupid to make someone hate me. According to my personality type, I am creative which I would like to think is true. I love to write and create much more than doing things which don’t allow me to use my imagination. My weaknesses include sensitivity to criticism. Unfortunately, this is very true. I usually keep it to myself when I \am hurt by a criticism, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. I get defensive and even though I make fun of myself and point out my flaws all the time, I can’t stand it when other people do it to me for some reason. I guess it hurts hearing the truth from someone you care about or look up to. It’s worse than telling yourself the truth. Only about 4% of the population shares my personality type. Maybe that’s why I feel lonely all the time. Maybe that’s why it feels like there are very few people who understand me.

Some time ago, I contemplated suicide for two weeks straight. I imagined slitting my wrists, slicing my throat open, stabbing myself right in the heart, hanging myself in my closet, electrocuting myself in the bathtub, throwing myself in front of a car - I even Googled a bunch of other ways I could kill myself.

I was still in college, alone in a sea of strangers. All of them seemed to be partying on the ship while I was barely managing to hang onto the life boat. I wasn’t sure if I even wanted to hang on anymore.

I thought that I was doomed. I had depression. I had social anxiety. I didn’t have any work experience. I barely had any friends. How could I even dream of having a future in a world where being social was a requirement?

So I pondered all of the ways I could just end it all. After all of the weeks of isolation and numbness, I welcomed the rush that came with contemplating suicide. At the most, I tied a scarf around my neck in order to get a sense of what it felt like to choke.

I didn’t do anything more than that, but I did ponder over what would happen if I followed through on killing myself. I thought of how my parents would have to pay for my funeral. I thought of how they would have to bury me. I thought of how devastated they would be. They would blame themselves. They would ask themselves what they did wrong, what they could’ve done to prevent this. They would think, ‘I failed her’. By ending my life, I would ruin theirs. I didn’t want to do that to them. I didn’t want to do that to my best friend or my little brother, either. Since I didn’t have much of a will to live for myself, they became my reasons for living. They were the reasons why I continued to hold on. They were the ones who were there to support me, to love me, to believe in me when I didn’t have the slightest bit of belief in myself.

It wasn’t until recently that I was able to start liking and believing in myself. I managed to break through all of the selfhatred, isolation, and hopelessness I’ve felt for the majority of my life, thanks to all of the love, care, and help that I’ve received from my family (best friend, included - she’s like a sister to me) as well as my therapist. It took a long time to get to where I am now, and I couldn’t have possibly made it here without them. Sure, I still have my fair share of problems and obstacles to overcome, but I want to live. There are still so many more memories I want to make with them. There are still so many things I want to do. I don’t want to give up on any of that. It’s just the beginning of the rest of my life and I want to do what I can to grow. At my own pace. One step at a time.