date

I’m not supposed to be here.not even to talk. Even this site, I just wanted to leave my story before I go. I registered set password and it told me it was wrong and asked if I wanted to change my pass word, but I’ve never been here. See I’m always pushed not to talk.

When I was 3 1/2 yrs old, I helped my mother dig up hemlock bushes. She dug around it and clipped the roots, but she couldn’t get to the center root. So she handed me the clippers with the long wooden handles and short curved nose. And I cut the root.

On one bush I couldn’t cut it. I tried sitting on it, laying on it, I just couldn’t do it. Mom asked me to try harder because I was to small to pull the bush over, but I couldn’t do it. I told mom I would pull the bush over, she seemed apprehensive but let me try. I grabbed an upper branch and pulled and pulled until the trunk bent low enough for me to grab the trunk. I pulled myself up and sat on it, but it still wasn’t low enough. So I started bouncing and forced it lower. Finally mom could reach it. I like to admit that she had a hard time cutting it herself. After she cut it she said, “Wow that was a tuff one.

I helped with a decretive stone wall. At 4 yrs old I was shifting her Datsun. At 4 1/2 I was mowing an acre piece of property by hand, 3 weeks later with the tractor. In my baby book under (First helps) it says, “Mow lawn with tractor 4 1/2”

The point is that I was a very talented and intelligent child. I had a great life ahead of me.

But when I was 4 mom brought in my soon to be stepfather, who preceded to beat the crap out of me. I was pushed down a flight of stairs, had a bag of black licorice jammed down my throat and had my nose ripped of my face. I don’t remember these as they happened when I was 3 yrs old. I learned about the stairs from a relative, the licorice from a story my stepfather used to tell, and as for my nose, I still carry the scars. What I do remember isn’t any better.

My mother forget the smart boy I was and believed my stepfather that I was a worthless piece of shit. You aren’t born with social skills, you learn them. And I was taught nothing.

I was constantly beaten, repeatedly knocked unconscious, starved, forbidden to talk to my mother, uneducated, no friends in school because of my angry face. It was a life of hell.

But I was still top sales man in Indian guides and boy scouts, I achieved the highest rank of Eagle scout. I saved my mother life from being thrown down the stairs when I was 10. I walked in the kitchen with an axe, and he ran away and never hit me again. Bullies are babies, I don’t know what she saw in him. I also saved my 4 year old cousin from drowning when I just turned 14. I had jobs and paid my own way.

I was still very damaged, but I was trying. At 17 3/4s I moved to CA. I was trying to move on. But my family wouldn’t let me. By denying the abuse, mom’s family pushed me even further away, which lead to a life of crime. After getting caught and serving 16 months in jail, I tried to start my life.

I ended up a house painter and I was very good. At 28 I started a restoration company in Greenwich CT. I didn’t make a lot of money due to low self-esteem. But I ran it for 12 years.

My poor social skills never allowed me to date a woman I was interested in, the one’s I did were much older than me. At 38 I went into therapy and learned how to smile. But two bad girls friend in a row, lead to my suicide attempt. No matter what I did, I couldn’t heal that abused boy inside me.

I took a bunch of pills, and for some reason I lived. Even the doctors in the hospital were surprised I did. I decided to live and write my book. It was about denial and false perception. I would use my life and family as an example, then show how the world created their thinking. And at the end show the worlds denial and false perception.

I moved to NY to write and joined the painters union. I met another woman who wasn’t good for me and wasted to many years with her. I kept working on my book and recently finished it.

I decided to live to write my book and see where life took me. The book is done and no one is interested, it’s to ahead of it’s time. I have no money left and no work. It turns out that being a great painter in the painters union is a bad thing. It’s not about painting, but kissing ass. And I’m really bad at that. I haven’t been with anyone in years.

And that kills me. I’m good looking, smart, funny, caring, passionate, and affectionate. I’m a good cook, incredible lover. I have made every girlfriend squirt and soak the bed. Kids and animals love me. I have never beaten a woman or abused a kid. I have saved 5 live to date and helped many people make a change in their lives. The only life I can’t save is mine. Because as I helped others, I need help. But there is no help for me.

I’ll be homeless next month, and looking for this false life to be over. My stepfather and mother took everything from me and no one helped me get it back. I have been alone to long now, and no woman wants to date a homeless man. I’m to tired to try all alone anymore. This was never my life, that was taken a long tome ago. Theres to much hate and selfishness in this world.

And my book isolatedmonkey.com was meant to heal that. But no one wants to be healed. We see faults in others, but refuse to see it in ourselves. And because of that, things will never change. It’s at the point that a third world war is needed, to help thin the heard. I just hope after this, we can learn something new and free ourselves of this worldly denial, or it will happen again.

I won’t be around to see it. I’ve done all I can. I don’t want to suffer anymore.