Past, Past, Present - Shameless' History

From the stories that I've gathered from my grandmother, aunts and uncles, the events leading up to my birth are as follows:
--My mother came from a relatively poor family that consisted mostly of Irish immigrants. While her father was borderline abusive, the rest of her large family were beyond generous--and my mother never had to deal with her father because he was arrested when she was 2, and then never returned to the family scene.
--In her mid twenties, down on her luck, she met a very rich man who helped her get back on her feet. She fell in love with him, but the feelings were not reciprocated. So she drugged him, had sex with him, and then demanded to be married after discovering her pregnancy. He said no, then left her to go live in California.

I was then born on July 30th, 1994. For the first 3 years of my life, I wasn't cared for by my mother. I was under the foster care of my Aunt Mary, who did her best to raise me while also raising two children of her own. I do not blame her for messing up, as she had two biological offspring to feed and I was the spawn of someone who never deserved to have children in the first place.
My mother thought otherwise. After 3 years of never seeing my mother, I was taken into her care. I was then moved from New York to go live in Philadelphia. There she ran into my step-father: an abusive father and heavy drinker who was the manager for an artist named Steve Tobin.

Now my memories start filling in the gaps....
Habitually, from the time I was 4 until I was 8, I was locked out of my house sometime between 7 and 8am (when my mother left for work), and wouldn't be let back into the house until my first parent came home (usually my mother) until 8-9pm. I had no babysitter, and no way to get myself food... So I learned how to steal, and lie, and cheat everyone around me so that I could at least get a loaf of spoiled bread to eat.
When I was 5, my mother moved us to the poor end of Allentown because she got a new job. My step-father (who will be called Rick from now on) never complained because it allowed him to work closer to his new job site.
When I was 6, we moved again to the ghettos of Bethlehem for the same exact reasons above.
On my 8th birthday, we moved to a quaint area called Hellertown because my mother was pregnant with Rick's daughter, and she wanted to move someplace safer for the baby. This became the spark of jealousy and hatred towards my sister, as I already knew she'd be more important than I ever was.

During this entire span, my life never truly changed. I was neglected emotionally and socially by my mother, and I was beaten by my step-father. To the world outside that household, I was considered a rat and a problem, so most did their best to ignore me. The combinations of these things made me bitter, angry and violent.

All these things combined made me develop my own imaginary friends. Though, they weren't all that "imaginary." They were separate personalities to which I could communicate with so that I wouldn't be alone....

At the start of the new school year (that I almost didn't go to because my mother didn't want to pay the taxes to do so) on September 10th--yeah, back when public school didn't start in August--I accidentally bumped into a girl double my age by the name of Jessica Silver.

She was short, but she was thin. Her skin was pale, but it was smooth and flawless. When she smiled, her entire face lit up so well that it brought the world to a standstill just so it could stop and stare for a moment. She liked to bleach her hair white, because she enjoyed how much it complimented her blue eyes. To a kid like me, her voice was motherly, calm, encouraging and safe. At that point in my life, she was simply perfect.

That day, after school, I accidentally bumped into her again. But this time I fell and I scrapped my knees and hands, and thus started to cry. I did my best to hold back my tears, but she somehow got me to unleash everything that was burdening me. She learned my past, but she didn't pity me. She didn't run, or show any signs of remorse. She simply held me and said: "I'm sorry."
That was it. Nothing more. Nothing less.
One week later, I heard the best news of my life: that very same girl was going to be my babysitter. She found me, talked with my parents, and agreed to watch over me for $10 a day--from the time after school until my parents got home, plus any day they deemed they needed her.
I was in awe at this point. The only thing I could muster was another set of tears. But, this time, I was happy. I know it's depressing to read this, but: this was the first time I ever felt what happiness was. It took 8 years for me to understand anything positive.
The next 2 years were the happiest points of my life. I had someone who cared, who mothered me, and gave me the chance to see, feel and do things that my actual parents never cared about. I was 8 years late, but I was starting my life as a child. She played me songs on her piano nearly every night as a lullaby, she took me for walks in the wooded areas behind my house. She spoiled me. She gave me hope, happiness and love.

But all good things must come to an end....

August 30th, 2004...
Jessica and I were on another walk in the wooded paths behind our house. She was explaining to me how she wouldn't be around anymore because she was going off to college when hell's nightmare struck...
3 men grabbed us from behind, separated us, then tied her down before shoving her into the mud. One man held my hands behind my back and a knife to my throat, while the other two stripped her, raped her, then killed her...
I cried in fear, in hatred, as I was forced to watch these thugs end the life of the only person I cared about. I exploded. I squirmed violently and headbutted the person holding me captive. He released his grip, and I grabbed his weapon....and for everything that happened next, my mind went blank and black. I felt far away from everything: the world, the heavens, her, myself, life, death, pain, emotion.

I was pulled back into reality by a police officer grabbing my body and dragging me away from the site. As I can to my senses, I looked at the scene that I created:
It was gore. It was blood. It was hell. It was righteous. I murdered the three bastards to took away what mattered to me so brutally that I was restrained by the town's police for three whole days. From there I was taken to court, deemed temporarily insane, and sentenced to a full year of solitary confinement in a Sanity Ward.
I had some major breakthroughs, though I hated being there. Life wasn't great, because there were no regulations, but I won't go into detail. After a year, I had a re-evaluation of my psychopathy. I passed. The doctors were surprised, but slightly excited that I "worked" in favor of their practices. I was set to return to school immediately, though now I was a grade behind.
I was starting 6th grade while all my age-grouped "peers" were now a year ahead.

When I returned to school, there wasn't a single person who didn't hear about what I went through, though none of them new the reasons why or how. They only knew that I went to a Sanity Ward for a year. But that never stopped the bullies who picked on me before to pick on me again with these new reasons. But as they were picking on me, I snapped once again...
I beat one bully until he was unconscious, then stared at the others until they ran away.

I was taken to the principal's office to discuss what I did, as well as decide my punishments. With every question that was given to me, I always answered nonchalantly. I was emotionless and uncaring towards what I did.
"It's such a pity to have someone so young be so shameless," she said. But, unbeknownst to me, there was one of the bullies I scared off sitting outside her door because he was in detention. He overheard her saying that and decided it would be a cruel joke to repeat it.

I was suspended for a week, on the account of self defense from a large group of bullies. When I returned I was immediately heckled by the same group once again.
"You're Shameless!" They called.
"That's your name now, Shameless!" They repeated.
I beat the shit out of them once again, then decided to wear that name with pride.
"And from now on you better fear that name!" I shouted. I was then expelled.

During the following year, my mother and Rick went through a divorce. My mother than took only me and moved us back to Philadelphia.

I restarted school again in during the next August. Now I was 12 years old and repeating the 5th grade for the second time. My mother wasn't supportive of her child being two years behind. She harassed me, and put me down at every chance she could. But I guess it worked. It motivated me to prove her wrong. To make her suffer in her own way for knowing that she did the wrong thing, and that I would never give her a chance to redeem herself.
I spent the whole year stealing book as I studied so that I could read and learn ahead. In 9 months I crammed 2 years worth of knowledge into my skull, and I was rewarded. I got to skip 6th grade and jump straight into 7th.
But I didn't stop there. I did it again. I expanded and tripled my research to try and launch myself ahead of the learning curve. I wanted to be a year ahead of my age-grouped "peers." But, unfortunately, I never reached that goal. I jumped, alright, but I only got to skip 8th grade. Which then landed me into the same learning curve as my age-grouped "peers." I wasn't very happy, but I learned my intellectual limitations.
These grade jumped gained the watchful eye of a private school called Blair Academy. They were impressed with my knowledge to the point that they gave me a scholarship to go to High School on their grounds. An offer that I gladly accepted.

But, before I travel to the years beyond the age of 14, we need to revisit the streets of Philadelphia between the ages of 12 and 14 (and every subsequent summer afterwards), because life at Blair Academy was relatively simple and uneventful, but positive.
It's stereotypical to say "The Thug Life chose me", and I personally hate the saying, but it's true as a summary. When I was 12, I was inducted into the stupidly-named "Half-Blood Crew." They claimed to be "brothers" to the true Bloods (yes, those Bloods). I was young, I thought it was cool.
We had no areas in our control, no trafficking of any kind... Needless to say, I fixed that problem. I rose through their poorly organized ranks and helped them secure 4 blocks through a highly congested area of prostitute pick-ups by the time I was off to Blair. And every subsequent summer I always returned to war and terror over what I thought were MY blocks of control.
Then, finally, in the summer of 2010 I merged with a group called the 50th Street Posse (or the Five-O). Then, with a few people who claimed to be former members of the Shower Posse, I finally managed to seize permanent, safe control over my map.

But, on the following summer, I was met by a man who gave me an offer my greed and hidden anger couldn't refuse. He offered me an extremely large sum of cash (half of which was paid in advance) to sabotage and tear apart the very organization that I built. I accepted, and broke apart my creation by siding everyone against each other. The gang broke apart, and I completely vanished from that area.
After my job was done, that man approached me once again and made me a second offer I couldn't refuse: to join his hidden organization. The purpose? To find those who have avoided the governmental systems, and to deliver the justice that these criminals deserved.
I was a mercenary.

With money in my pocket, and time on my side. I felt on top of the world. My mental problems all seemed to start fading, and my life's goals were slowly falling into place.
And then I met "her." The one I fell in love with.
We met on DeviantArt. I posted a poem, and she commented. I then responded, and things started to soar from there. We connected so well. The problems I was experiencing she had dealt with, and thus she gave me tips on how to get over them. And vice versa. She gave me the very last thing I needed to be happy again: a purpose.
With her by my side, I kept my grades high, my salary in check and my hopes full-rail. I felt unbreakable. I was unbreakable.

Then college rolled around, and I hated it. It was a broken system that was only there for my money. But, with "her" guidance and support, she convinced me to move across the entire country to the city of Seattle, with promises of a more balanced system and better opportunities for life.

And, for the most part.... It was.

Not everyone acts the same as they do on the internet. But I expected this from the beginning. What I never expected was this person to be nothing like their internet persona.
Though, not to over-exaggerate, there were similarities:
She was smart and intelligent, had the sexual prowess she bragged about, and was attractive...
But her attitude was entirely different. She was very self-centered and had this uncontrollable need to be in control of everything around her. I understood that she was slightly autistic, but the way she acted simply pointed to other reasons other than the mentality she was given at birth. Over the next two years, life wasn't all that great.
I had to give up the best paying job I'll ever have, to find a new one (which did happen relatively quickly). I gave up everything positive that I had of my old life--not only give it up, but sever it entirely. But every day I felt as if it wasn't good enough for her. But I never yelled, and only protested with things that were severely bothering me. But she never budged.
I gave up so much, and changed so much for this person. I threw away everything to make this one person happy.....


And then, not too long ago, she decided to break up with me. No less than 3 days after I lost my job. She told me that I would have to leave the apartment (that we were paying together), and go live somewhere else.
I was being dropped off as dead weight. I tossed myself selfishly at this person in hopes of an even brighter tomorrow, and she stepped out of the way to let me fall. And now, I'm stuck. Although it has been two years since I've moved here, I still feel like a stranger.

I know I probably deserved this in one way or another, since karma is a thing. I haven't been a very good person throughout my life. I've hurt countless people as a child, and continue hurting people as I got older. Yes, she "saved" me, in that aspect. I'm no longer a killer. I'm no longer a monster. But then she tore away what good was left, and what good she helped create.

So now here I am, typing away my problems so that they hopefully unburden my shoulders. But I know it won't. Not entirely. Because I can't say everything, as there aren't enough words to reveal everything that I have done up to this point. Which, in turn, still leaves me with weight on my shoulders. And that will always be my greatest curse.


If you've read this far, I thank you for listening. As that is the only thing I've wanted out of this whole experience. I don't want help, because that'll only make me feel worse about myself. I just wanted to get my voice out to someone who will listen, because the greatest pain a soul can ever learn is to be ignored the the one who made that soul yearn...