bio

i was born on june 16. in what year? i cannot divulge. i may be an old man, or a little boy. you decide.

mommy was severely sick when she carried me in her uterus. doctors were not sure if i could survive. on top of that, the position of my body wasn’t right. my feet were down. they considered C. but before my mom gave me birth, i made a strange flip, positioning my head down, how it’s supposed to be. my head got stuck, though…

when i was a toddler, i was dreaming of being a soldier. i craved violence. i enjoyed kicking air and saying i was just like a dude from the “blade” movie. i was around three or four years old when i decided to run around with a plate of cookies in my hands. i fell, of course. kids are clumsy as hell. my palms were bleeding; that was the first time i saw my own blood running down my hands, but not the last. fourteen years old me desired self-punishment. mere existence oozed the venom of shame and embarrassment. don’t go out of the room. you don’t deserve it, boy.

never liked kindergarten. never liked public school. i was skipping a lot since the very beginning. still remember my first day at school. dreadful. the teacher was a scum. and it was only an elementary school. got worse in a middle school. teachers tried to make me think i am a brainless, stupid, shameful, passive, ineducable and annoying. that's all they tough me. however, i was not a victim. i could not care less about those mfs. yes, it was pressuring, and i thought they were right about me being a fool, but i would not be here if they were kind to me. i learned how to make your own way in life. i didn't dodge the bullet, i got it right into my brain. i am still hella traumatized, but i enjoy being myself. maybe i would be less thoughtful if i had a normal experience. spoiled curiosity — Nietzsche would say.

if i wasn't bullied, i would not be who i am now. probably i would work in some office, ignoring and avoiding death at all cost. the thing is, i am fascinated with death. i take pictures of dead animals every time i see them. i like to read about death and study it. Fromm would fairly call me a necrophile. although i wish i never experienced abuse, especially SA. it was not an isolated incident. yes, he touched me. and sucked on my nipples. it was disgusting, and i didn’t know what to do. because i was four. it had been happening repeatedly for years. he wanted to sleep in one bed with me when he was almost naked. i was waking up with a porn movie before my eyes a few times. i heard him jerking off and moaning. once i visited him, and he had no underwear. in fact, he was absolutely naked. he asked me to sit on his bed.

“you’re growing fast, i am a man, and i can teach you…” — said another person, not him. this person was drunk. he sat on the couch in my room while i was in my bed. he continued: “so, how about we spend time together?”, but he was interrupted. my big brother came in. he seemed to suspect something was going on in my room. he asked that man to leave and let me rest. thank you, brother. you saved my life twice, and you love to spoil me, despite all of those arguments and fights we have been having.

I tried boxing. The coach was supportive and nice. Well, I believed so. But this trust was violently smashed. I came to the private lesson without any mood. Yeah, I’d lie if I said I had no sadness in my eyes. He noticed it and asked what was wrong. We sat on the mat, and I crossed my legs. “I have troubles with friends” — I said. Somehow he started to talk about me being too pretty to worry about such things. He put his hand on my knee reassuringly, but I began to cry. Sniffle. His hand goes up and down my thigh. Another sniffle. Anxiety attack. I can’t breathe. He pulled me into a sinful embrace — I sensed his hard-on against my leg. Yet, I gathered my will and said I can train. We had a training session, despite me being teary. When I left, I had another wave of anxiety attack outside.

women harassed me, too. also i almost got kidnapped twice. the first man got caught, but the second one drove away quickly. i have no clue why i am such a magnet to creepy people. they call me a doll-face or cutie. once a group of women called me a "hot boy" out of nowhere, they were middle-aged. then they giggled. was it a compliment at all?

i, in fact, don't like my face. i had a hard time accepting my appearance. sometimes i don't know if it's even me. i don't remember life without derealization and depersonalization. past memories feel like a fever dream. fake, phony, unnatural.