My parents were sitting around with friends one hot summer night. One of them was a heavy set woman, who's name forgets me right now. I was sitting next to her, when all of a sudden my Uncle and Brother called for me to come look at a June Bug who had flown up onto our wall. I stood up, quickly, and my Femur Bone - the biggest in the human body - snapped in half. I was three. That's probably the earliest memory I have. Shear, unspeakable pain. I would go onto to have seven more (waiting for number 8 which is due anytime now). My first day at kindergarten, I remember balling my eyes out. Clinging to my mother as the teacher tried to pull me away. Into the abyss I would come soon to hate with all my heart and soul: School. That same year my grandfather died from complications of smoking and drinking. I remember seeing his casket. "This is how it ends, I suppose." At the age of 12, right before entering High School, my father decided he didn't want to be with my mother anymore - after 19 years of marriage. The impending divorce took my mom, my brother and I to my Grandmother's House, who had just passed away. My mom started seeing a guy who was 20 years her younger. He took care of us for a while. School never got better for me. I was an angry, stuck up, punk ass little coward who didn't know how to control emotions or thoughts. I never went to dances, date any girls, go to any football games (maybe 2 or 3 total) never joined sports, and, ultimately, drop out. At the age of 17 I got a job at Ralphs, and got with a girl who lived an hour and a half away from me. 3-4 times a week, I would drive over, pick her up as she snuck out of her house at 1 in the moring, take her to a back canyon, and make love to her. 4 months later, her father found out. And threatened charges (none came about, there was little he could get me for). Soon after, my job at Ralphs went on strike. 5 months on a picket line. After than I got with a beautiful girl who would eventually become pregnant with my child. 3 months into the pregnancy, she had an abortion behind my back. I went to Montana. Got into a fight with the guy who took me in. I came back to LA. Got with another girl. The I burned my old school down. And spent three years in prison. The girl left, and is now working on child number 3 in another State. Now, life is what it has always shown itself to be: A hopeless perpetual nightmare. Nothing good can come from it. And that's my conviction. I want to leave, and continue to tell myself that if I do - if I just pack up and leave - it will be better. I'm still going to do it. If it's the last thing I do on this earth.