Ever been chastised simply because of who your parents are? Ever been accused of something you had nothing to do with solely based on your last name? Did you ever walk in on your dad's sperm donor raping your mom when you were three, and he threatened to kill you, "Like your dad did those little kids in Vietnam," if you didn't get back outside and play?
Were you sexually abused as a kid? Grew up in an alcoholic, crazy, abusive home? Did you move thirteen times in your first fifteen years of existence? Did you develop a drinking habit at eight and a nose-candy habit by junior high school?
Were you an exceptional athlete who had all the potential in the world, only to turn pro and crash and burn faster than a bolt of lightning?
Are you one who spent the better part of your life wishing you were dead, doing your best to be killed by someone or something, because you didn't have the balls to pull the trigger yourself?
Crazy? Sad? Some might say disturbing.
From stealing a car and trying to go to New York City for New Year's Eve from Amherst, Ohio, at fifteen, to being strung out on dope in Southern California to going through rehabs, psychiatric wards, and hitchhiking through three states while being on the lamb.
All I ever wanted to do was not be here.