Hard Knock Life

I like to say that the very first game I ever played was cops and robbers. I picked robber, and I’ve been playing ever since. I’m a legitimate anarchist, believing that there is nobody better suited to make my life decisions then I am myself. I’ve always been somewhat of a troublemaker, choosing unfortunately to learn things the hard way instead of conforming and making things easier on myself. I do what I want and have always marched to the beat of a drum that apparently only I can hear. Growing up was a bumpy ass road because my father was very forceful in his attempt to mold me into the son he wanted me to be which wasn’t the son I was trying to be. Our stubbornness and the fact that we both had very overpowering personalities made for a pretty rough childhood and a love/hate relationship. I was a very willful youth and quickly become fearless, caring very little about the threat’s of violence or any of the consequences which resulted from my choices or actions. I quickly became the kid your parents would warn you about, gaining a reputation as a juvenile delinquent by kindergarten. Hindsight is 20/20 and it’s now easy to see where I went wrong and how I could have avoided the trouble I got myself into but even if I’d had the insight then I’m not sure things would have gone any different. I’m not sure that I am even capable of conforming. It’s almost like my mind is wired wrong cause it’s not like I was looking to get beaten, or desiring to be punished, it’s just that when I am told not to do something or told I can’t do something my mind is like, oh yeah? Fuck that. As soon as I register a command or order, even a request, my mind immediately locks up and I go the other way. It doesn’t matter if it’s a good idea that I would normally make, if I’m told to do it I almost can’t do it. Every ounce of my being fights it. I often wonder why it is that I’m like this, like what happened to make me like this? And I come up with nothing. I can’t penpoint a moment where things changed or remember a situation that would explain it. I just think that I was born this way. I was born for this shit. It has made for a difficult life at times, causing problems where there didn’t need to be any. It has painted me into a corner that is oftentimes depressing and lonely. Childhood was rough and confusing, what with the disciplinary abuse and the social alienation. I started getting locked up at 12 going to rehabs and foster homes, juvenile institutions and group homes. I did probation and scared straight. I went to mental institutions, therapy session, boot camps and just about every form of punishment and rehabilitation available to troubled youth. At 18 I went to big boy jail for the first time and by the time I finally went to prison the authorities knew me on a first name basis. I’m not sure when but I became infamous for my nefarious lifestyle and society in general slammed the door on me prompting me to adapt an antisocial no fucks given mindset that further separated me from normal life and socially acceptable dreams. I felt no need to conform to society and in fact grew contemptuous towards “normal” people and the American dream. I cared nothing about what others thought about me, gave no fucks about what was said about me or the stories that were being created. They were comical. The stories of events and the actual events themselves grew farther apart as time went by until the truth got swallowed up and all that remained was legend. My reputation ended up outgrowing me and the things I was actually doing. Making me some kind of monster who people villainized and blamed for pretty much anything illegal or drug related. I became the reason that people were addicted to drugs, the instigator in their criminal activities and the corruptor of all things innocent. The stories I would hear about myself and the things I had done were insane. People’s inability to take responsibility for their own actions and others inability to see that the people they loved and cared for could ever possibly be ugly or fucked up made me public enemy number 1. And I didn’t care. I was an angry fucked up child who grew up to be an angry even more fucked up adult and to be honest, I was just waiting for the flash. I wouldn’t kill myself, I’m not a quitter, but I wanted to die. I had no hope. No dreams or goals. I didn’t care about anything except getting high and being disruptive. I liked that I made people uneasy and uncomfortable. I enjoyed their discomfort and disdain. Who fucking cared what they thought or felt? I slept just fine knowing they hated or feared me. Not me. I was a broken ass kid. I was a monster. Monsters don’t care about social acceptance or community support. I was a nihilist and an anarchist. A career criminal. A bad guy. And then Brooklyn was born. Brooklyn. My angel. The slayer of demons. The monster slayer. The day Brooklyn was born was the day Jason the Destroyer was slain. It was the day the Jason the pure was born. The very best version of Jason that I will ever be capable of being was born that day. It was like hitting a light switch. One minute everything was dark, and then there was light. For the first time in my entire life I was actually able to see. I was flooded with emotions and feelings I never even knew existed. Prior to that day I believed that I knew love, I mean, I loved my and my sister. I loved Jessica. Or at least I thought I did. But I didn’t. I knew nothing. About anything. Brooklyn taught me love. She taught me everything. Parents are supposed to teach their children everything but I’m not normal. I taught her things, sure. But nothing in comparison to what she taught me. The 3, almost 4 years that I got to spend with Brooklyn were the best years of my life, by far. Before Brooklyn I was hateful and angry, I had no hope for anything, I could care less about the future, I didn’t want to see the dawn I craved darkness, longed for the end. When Brook was born I started thinking about the future, craving it. I was excited about something for the first time ever. I was truly happy. For the first time I felt like I finally knew why I had survived all those beatings, I felt like I had a purpose. It was amazing. It was magical. Everyday I learned and grew, just as Brooklyn did. I loved watching her become herself, loved being with her and teaching her and learning from her. For nearly 4 years I was beautiful. I was pure. For nearly 4 years life was perfect and exciting and rewarding. It’s was magical and perfect. And then it wasn’t. Like the light switch again the world flipped and once again everything was dark, with no light. The hope was gone. The love was gone. The dreams we’re dead. And Brooklyn was gone. The new Jason that was born when Brooklyn was born was in a coma on life support, soon to be dead. One bad choice. One weak moment. A need to escape my emotions and a handful of xanax was all it took to completely change my world. Long story short, Brooklyn’s mom had decided to re-enter our lives which I aloud gratefully and on that day she was coming from Texas to pick up Brooklyn for what was to be a 2 month visit in Texas. 2 months. It seemed like such a long time. I was gonna miss her fourth birthday. Brooklyn was and still is my very favorite person on the planet and instead of being smart and proactive and taking her to the park or doing something to enjoy my last day with her, instead I allowed my feelings, or the need to avoid them run the show and I bought some booze and ate some xanax and with the help of DHS and the Park County Sheriff department I overdosed, dying for 3 minutes and changing my life for ever. They revived me, bringing me back to this rotten existence and took me to jail for putting my daughter in an unsafe environment and they took Brooklyn to foster care. When I woke up in jail I couldn’t remember shit. DHS came and saw me in jail with their file on my “life” and informed me that they took Brooklyn into their custody. Scanning through my file they had decided that there was no way I could be a good parent, let alone a good person. My file explaining to them who I was and what I was about. Their opinion and judgement on me and my life quickly killing my role as Brooklyn’s father. I attempted to jump through their hoops. Each time I successfully jumped they would raise it higher and I keep jumping. But the absence of Brooklyn from my life hurt and it brought with it all kinds of emotions which choked me out and with no idea how to deal with them I submerged them in alcohol which was retarded because the emotions plus the booze drove me insane and before you knew it I was in prison. While in prison DHS took advantage and deemed me non-compliant with there treatment plan and so with no notice and in fact no communication whatsoever they eliminated my parental rights and Brooklyn was gone like she’d never been there. But she had. I could remember. I still felt her. And her absence left a big gaping hole in me. I filled the hole with drugs and hatred, self-hate and contempt for myself. I buried the pure, happy, beautiful Jason in the prison yard the day I found out that I had lost Brooklyn. Buried him and pissed on his grave. The new Jason was an ugly one. A dangerous one. He was the worst Jason to date. Thank God I was able to kill him. It took forever and he did plenty of damage, to others but especially to myself, but I was eventually able to chop his motherfucking head off. Had I never known that world that Brooklyn introduced me to I would have never missed it, I wouldn’t have known that it even existed but I did. And so my inability to get back there has left me with a lot of issues. Since the day I lost Brooklyn I’ve been to prison 3 times. I’ve damaged and influenced hundreds of lives. I almost made it back once, having yet another beautiful, magical, perfect daughter named Hayden. She’s pretty rad, at least what I know of her but I created her with a siren. A ruthless, soulless, beauty named Tighlar who would let me serve 3 years in prison for a car that she herself stole while I was locked up in Idaho, giving no fucks for my sacrifice to keep her from prison and instead vilifying me and disappearing into the night with my daughter in hand. Another huge chunk torn out of me. But this one not as bad cause I had prepared for the situation, never really giving Hayden the chance I did Brooklyn to damage me cause inside I had always known that she would be stolen from me as well. Another Jason dead. Another burial. And a new rebirth. This Jason isn’t exactly ugly but he sure the fuck ain’t beautiful either. He is extremely dangerous though. He has so many holes and scars that he is basically hollow. Just an empty vessel. Unsure, unstable, sad, angry, vengeful.

Published by devilmonkey666

I'm a hot mess. A 41 year old child who still doesn't know what he wants to be when he grows up. Or even if he wants to grow up for that matter. People say I'm a writer. I'm not so sure. But it is therapeutic and helps me from going all the way left sometimes.

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