Before I begin I’d like to make a few things very clear. First: this is the story of my life from a small child to where I am now. Second: this isn’t a happy story, for the most part. So readers who are looking for a happy ending may want to look elsewhere. And third: This is definitely not a ‘poor me’ story. This is not a cry for help. I don’t need or want pity.

By writing this, my hope is that maybe somewhere along the line someone can take something away from this and make their own life better. In addition, it will be the first time I’ve ever shared the full story…well, there are some parts I HAVE to leave out. And names will be changed (assuming I use any) to protect those who may not wish to be exposed.

So without further ado…



Some people say that when you reach the bottom, there is nowhere to go but up. They’re wrong. You begin to pace in circles. True, you’re not getting anywhere really. But in space and time, you’re still traveling.

Eventually, people start to stumble across the hole you fell into. They absentmindedly throw rocks and sticks and garbage down your hole. It’s not their fault though. They don’t know you’re down there. To them it’s just a hole. To you, it’s your life.

But sooner or later enough shit has fallen into your hole that you have enough material to start building a ladder; trying desperately to reach that first little crack that you can get your fingers in and begin to pull yourself up. It takes every last bit of your entire being to make that first pull. Then, out of nowhere, someone throws something else in your hole and knocks you back to the bottom. This is how it works for me.

I finally gave up ‘the climb’ and resigned myself to this place. But, if you’re interested, I’ll tell you how I got here…

My Story 3

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