I have been very reluctant to reveal to much about my life as you can see in my first introduction. However, after the overwhelming response I got to "The uncomfortable truth about being a Professional Truck Driver in the United States - An in depth analysis of the life of a trucker!" I have decided to tell more of my story. Truth be told, this will be the hardest thing I have ever written and might be the hardest thing ever written so I am issuing this warning:

IF YOU ARE PRONE TO VIOLENT OR EMOTIONAL OUTBURSTS DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

This is me today:
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Sadly, though the fact that I am here is a bit of a mystery or miracle depending on how you want to look at it. 

Before I was born:

My mother, and to a lesser extent my father, was an alcoholic. In my mother's case she was also heavy into drugs and I do mean heavy. If she couldn't find/buy them she would cook up Crystal Drano (that old stuff you used to use to unclog your pipes) and shoot it up like Heroine. Needless to say it was a damn miracle I survived 9 months inside of her. You would think that after 9 months of being exposed to every illegal substance known to mankind (and few that weren't none) that I would have came out of that Vajayjay like a Tomahawk Cruise Missile....but nay nay....I was holding on for dear life. After 18 hours in labor mother finally gave birth to me, of course I brought her insides to the outside along with me.....serves her right if you ask me.

The first 6 months:

It turns out that I was addicted to some serious messed up shit, hence the reason I didn't wanna leave. So as a result of being born, I had to spend the first 6 months of my life on full life support being detoxed, fed through a tube, having my wasted pumped out and who knows what else. Sadly, that was one of the few times I was ever properly cared for; or treated nicely by my mother.

The next 18 months (or so):

I don't know much about the next 18 months other than this. Every Friday when my dad would come home with his paycheck my mom would start a fight, call the cops and have him arrested. She would then go whoring around all weekend spending most, if not all, of his pay. Come Monday if she had anything left she would bail him out of Jail so he could go back to work.

At two years old:

So, as the story has been told to me by multiple sources, I contracted some "Mystery Disease" that the doctor's couldn't identify or treat. I wound up spending another 6 months or so in the hospital, again hooked to every machine in existence. Truth be told, I think my mother poisoned me trying to get back at my dad for something; but no one will tell me the truth and when the subject comes up it quickly gets changed.

My earliest memories:

At three years old I had started to remember the fights between my parents. I had developed a deep understanding of right and wrong, or at least I thought so at the time. You see, I would always take my mother's side and demand my dad stop screaming at her.....even after she would take a cast iron skillet to the side of his head I would still believe he, somehow, deserved it. It wasn't until years later that I finally realized, that she was bat-shit fucking crazy.

"I know I know, I shouldn't talk about my mother that way, but trust me by the time you finish reading this you will call her even worse."

So anyway, sometime between 3 and 4 years old my dad left for good. I remember running out into the street, as he walked away with nothing but the clothes on his back, and screaming for him to not leave me with her (mom). To which mom flipped her shit in a royal fashion and said it was my fault he was leaving at that I better go bring him home or she would kill me. Needless to say I took off running down the middle of the street, screaming 'stop daddy, stop' over and over again. When I finally caught up to him he told me he had to leave but that I needed to go back to my mother.

So like a good little son, I went back to mommy. As soon as I was within arms reach she back handed me so hard I went flying like a toothpick in a tornado. Broke my jaw and knocked out several teeth. To add insult to injury the second I started crying she proceeded to kick me and beat me until I could no longer cry.

*** This is proving to be harder for me to write than I expected, in fact it has already made me physically ill so I am going to have to turn this into a multi-part article. Please follow me and check back for more of the story! ***