I can date my adolescent crime to about 3 and a half years of age when I grabbed a pack of gum from the pharmacy, I do not remember exactly what happened but it was along the lines of her not noticing and then telling me it was fine because we shop there all the time and they wouldn't notice or care.
A short while after I took a few bucks from my mothers purse which was on the stairway rail right in front of an 24/7 open door, its a beautiful what is now million dollar home which later I found out was on the cover of a real estate magazine which I stumbled upon while either looking for something or cleaning two decades later. My grandmothers engagement ring, she gave me a more special one later, beautiful, still have it for the right girl.
My parents divorced at seven, neglect and abuse started way before though, but now supercharged with nitrous. I prefer naturally aspirated, like telling someone "you kinda stink" without stating the fact I haven't showered in 8 days because of compulsive thoughts in which I thought saving my mother money on water would allow me the privilege for a movie ticket for the first time in my life with my first girlfriend in 7th grade.
My brother came back senior year, I was in 7th and he barely attended, he didn't have to, I do not have the slightest clue, he never seemed that bright to me. I never knew what he did with that apple computer we still have that cost more than I paid for my first car, but he got into Penn State, my sister went too. He lived with my father after the divorce, I saw one time in his residence, in a place which I couldn't even explain, he never went to school, he played video games all day. It was southern though, long drives, for my fathers visits to me, only me.
I turned pro less than two years later, making money that is. Holiday season rolled around in ninth grade and my older brother my brothers cars computer broke, kind of ironic. We went to the mall to shop with God almighty it couldn't of been more than 100 the way he enabled me to steal, I might of had 40 of it on my debit card even after years of hustling fireworks, allot of fireworks, I was pretty good at it, always return customers, I did that for awhile and the customers didn't loose interest I think I realized that I never really had any.
American Eagle was and still is real cheap. We didn't have a thousand dollars but we had a thousand in clothes, day after day, I would steal and steal. I loved it, I felt free like I lived in a Utopian society. It was a place where if you can't have it the old fashion way you made it happen. Even when they got an under payed and under qualified security guard who just stood there all sad, crossed hands and suited, I smiled and greeted him before him me. Man oh man I like to think I made his day a little better but I know for a fact that my brother loved my prowess, he didn't really give a shit about the clothes, neither did I. I would have been satisfied with a pack of underwear and socks.
My mom was behaving almost decent around my brother, something about the oldest fucking kid, I got all the verbal lashes. She didn't say much about what I was doing around him, or around anyone except my sister.
I felt so empowered, doing something that I did not have to do, not even something that I wanted, it was something far more intrinsic it was me at 14 challenging the whole of American society.
Why stop I wouldn't get caught for awhile, the pain was so far away and remote but it burned like a trillion candles, back then it was good to be me, the kids new the stories but not my story, only a few of them were curious and interested enough to bother asking me about it. I like to think of all those yuppies probably called me white trash for breaking the law, maybe a criminal or insane, I could not give a flying fuck cause that Christmas I got both my siblings 600 dollar ipods each as well as two snowboard for my brother, I saw two and couldn't know which one he wanted, he said he liked his. I loved mine though, God all mighty it was a 550 dollar Shaun White, 151 cm, to my 5'11" gorgeous and soft. I was working with my brothers old one which was stiff and super fast but it was time to hit the slopes with some style. Blue and green Cartel bindings and white hail boots, Oakley goggles the whole lot man, the whole lot.
It finally caught up to me, stories some might just not believe, people use word graphic, I prefer without ruth, moral supremacy or none, maybe something in between.
Just turning 17, got caught smoking weed and dreaming about being both an F1 engineer and driver maybe being inducted into the mafia, a moment of honesty, I was and still am in pain, all that time I wanted and needed someone to believe in me close to how much I believed in myself. I can not for the life of me remember what I said to the lawyer but apparently I was mentally ill.
I'll never forget my mother trying to tell the judge that she couldn't afford an attorney, hilarious here me actually thinking my parents might give me a chance in college. To this day I am fascinated at how often and with such esteem she thinks that all my wrong doings were completely my fault and her delusion that she was close to a decent mother, let alone a human. Holier than thou, I philosophy I like to think I distorted and shaped into such a demon in my minds eye that I can barely stand the sight or smell of such people.
Forced and inducted into a group and out casting me from my peers which even now seems like an eternity. Wasn't long after that arrest was I worse then even. Now scorn I had my eyes set on revenge. I drove those two white station wagons like you wouldn't believe
I mean I could tell you some stories.
5 arrests, 4 hospitalizations, 4 countries, a million cigarettes, around 40 pointless fist fights, love interest after another, about 4 years of on and off going to community college, I came to the conclusion that every single person in my life has failed me, miserably.
As close to an outcast as you can get, I don't understand if people are terrified FOR or FROM me.
I haven't hurt anyone in awhile, in a stable place having pretty frequent homicidal thoughts which life and the medicine turn into from suicidal. It is my way of venting, I can only talk to myself so much, reminisce, and pretend that allot of small conversations with strangers makes sense.
But maybe kidnapping, drilling a small hole in a skull and inserting maggots would entertain me for awhile.
Love instead of a love interest I hope would stop that, pretty certain in fact. I would get to think about spending my disability in a way that would get the most or the best smiles. I like smiles.
I write but get no recognition.
I am a walking contradiction.
Now I really only ever think about three things, how great life could be on the outside if things ever went well, how great life would be if i checked myself into a good psych ward for awhile, or how great life would be if I was sentenced a life sentence, such absolution, cheap smokes too.