Dad drank and stuff

Captains log 
Earth years:
Alot

I notice that I don't get sympathy. So I am re writting the storie of Dad: Drunk and nasty person of which I am a child of.

I would have a child to abuse and then take to ER of hospital so I can get attention and be a munchhousen by proxy donut but since no one real will have intercourses with me,  I have to invent my past abuses.  For sympathy.

So when I was first hatched at Family in House dwelling of parental units in a house that was a divident. Divided.
Father did actions such as these:
LOUD
MEAN
DRUNK
ABUSIVE
WITH WORDS
RUDE
BURPED
DID NOT DO HIS OWN LAUNDRY
STAYED AWAY ALL DAY LONG AT A PLACE CALLED WORK
PAYED BILLS 
WORKED

And Mamma Dell was against work, the establishment, taxes and such.

She was soft spoken since she had no vocal cords.  It was a inbred hillbilly affliction to those that had spoken to the devil and survived.  She grunted to communercate.  She was sacred and pastel.

It was like living in a home of 2 people there that were married!  They did theyre own thing at establishment called home.

But they stayed married to each other until I killed father.  Who died of MEAN.  I didn't realize what inner piece was until I was taken away by the authorities to spend my time at jail until I turned 18.

That was a eye awakening experience for me to hone my skills on stuff like how humans outside looked like and what they did with themselves.  

I had court mandated therape which I was going through emotions of my finance and son being a tradegicly murdered by a case of strangulation.  Accidently.  And I was angry.  I was very angry.  Hate. Rage. Itches. Skin is crawling.  I have scabies.  From detention.  Dirty mattress.  I peed on it.  

Don't pee yourself, put that dead squirrel back where you found it, stop sucking your thumb, did you set fire to your cousin again, words, all these words, all being yelled at me.  Voices in my head, past present and future.  RAGE. I color rage red like the blood I crave.  Boiling red.  Like the water I put Male Sibling Brother in.  Hot.  Red poker hot like those little cinnnimin candy things, I think they are called red hots.  Yessssss. Red is a good color.  The sun is colored red the house is colored red my hair is colored red and the face of my dead Father was colored red when I shotted him.  I like RED.

Fire.  I like fire.  It is red.

ITSNOTMYFAULT ITSNOTMYFAULT ITSNOTMYFAULT
Nothing is my fault.  Zero. Everyone else is at fault.

You exist.  It's your fault.  

So I would go to therape to heel myself but instead I found myselve getting more madder and looking for a fight.  So I punched the bitch out.  Feel my RED RAGE.

Life after prison is hard.  But I keep my selve occupied.  

I found God myself.  I hung out with A. Friend. Who lived in a van by the river.  I lived for anger because I'm a cowboy. On a steel horse I ride.  But I broke the horsey's back and he died.  Dead not alive. Dead not alive.

My human nature is for truth.  And when you oppose it.  I kill you.  I kill you dead.  I will never be my selve again. I will be SON OF SAM YES I AM NO IM NOT YES I AM.

What is thought? Is it the voices in my head or is thought under the voices?  Being smothered. Like my finace....with love.  Smothered with love.  It tastes like butter but it's not.  I miss Florence Henderson.  She will always be my TV mom Carol Brady with family of her family and Mike Brady's family.  And Alice!  She did sex with Sam behind the scenes.  He always brought the meat.  That's what she said.

Life is short and so are you.

Overton out.