All For More (Or Less)

I have come to the understanding that everyone reaches a point or finds themselves at some kind of crossroads in their life. This is not uncommon or rare by any means. As it appears, and in fairness to us all, no one escapes or gets out of this place alive.
Or at least, so I am told.
I would like to begin here and state for consideration that there is a history behind my pathology, or science, as it has been termed.

I go back to the earliest of my remnants and sift through the memories that dig up the unearthed portions from my beginning.
We all have this. We all have a beginning, a middle, and an end.
Perhaps the mapping from my past and the experiences will act as testimony to provide substance to my story.

Ladies and gentlemen and for those who claim to identify as otherwise of the jury, it is only fair to detail the accounts of my story before a verdict can be handed down.
At the same time, my reasons for exemption are no different or greater than the usual or typical man or person.

I am flawed, the same as anyone else. I am a person of the world and like anyone else, there was always a time before now.
Certainly no one can be persecuted for flaws or defects of character alone. Being unhappy or confused, anxious, or living with struggles is not against the law by any means.
There are, in fact, justifiable and historic data which not only supported my own self-propelled tragedies, but my testimony today is not to justify my actions, by any means.
Moreover, my aim is to humanize and normalize what happens to a life that is unheard or struggles that stem from fears, insecurities and emotional disabilities or challenges that went unaddressed. 

I would like the record to reflect that I am both living and breathing and acting upon my own free will. I do not enter my plea to any of the charges by ways of temporary insanity.
No, I am not sure that there is anything temporary about my insanity. However, my insanity is no worse or better than the average or everyday person who lives here on Project Earth.
I would like to point out to the court that we are all human and, therefore, we are all subject to tragic and catastrophic experiences. Furthermore, we all tend to go a little crazy from time to time.

This in no way promotes or excuses the stigma behind the word, “crazy.” To be clear, anyone who isn’t crazy these days or someone who has never gone crazy has never lived a real life.

However, and to please the courts, I stand here to face my convictions and speak freely that yes, I am crazy.
I do admit to my insanity which is due to life’s terms. I am not a victim, but I am a survivor of the unfolding situations that caused me to be situationally insane.
Whereas, I have said unkind words and yes, I have taken the Lord’s name in vain and I have committed the crimes of emotional sins —however, if it pleases the courts and for clarity, yes, I am guilty as charged and guilty of crimes of the heart.

Your Honor,
It is my right to qualify myself and yes, I have been equally hurt, lied to, dismissed and rejected.
I have a very good and unhealthy understanding of abuse, unwanted touches, bullying, beatings, thefts, and robberies of both a physical and emotional kind.
My argument is that this is the basis of my assumptions and that how one thing occurs, all things occur in a likewise fashion.
Please allow the court to understand that no, this is not true.
The truth to this is that biased assumptions and trained opinions or perceptions are not true to the facts; however, all of these are true to the individual.

Hence, this is the birth of fear. This is the birthplace of insecurities and thus, to add the scientific advancements and with the support of our mental health field and their DSM5 (The Diagnostic and Statistic Manual or Mental Disorders)  the above details act like a map to the mind’s history, reflection, and this is used by our mental health professionals to address our catastrophic and unhealthy thinking errors.
Your Honor,
I am not so different from most people. I have my unique qualities.
However, and to add color to my explanation, I would like to bring us back to my earlier memories and reflect on the areas where my insecurities began.

I can remember back to one of my first tries at having a girlfriend. She was a grade (or maybe two) younger than me. She was pretty and she smelled nice.
I liked her.
Then again, before I admit to anything, I have to confess the truth behind my thinking.
Everyone liked her. She was noticed or extremely noticeable.

She was pretty enough to get the attention of boys from the grades older than mine. In fact, and I offer this as Exhibit B, my first attempt at liking a girl.
She agreed to hang out with me. Then she agreed to be my girlfriend —but only for two days.

it turns out that there was another boy in her sights. He was older than me and someone who had her full attention. However, and as a move to show attention from other boys, the girl made sure that it was known that someone had asked her out. And now, she has a boyfriend.
This plan worked as she expected. The information was properly leaked to the older boy who, in turn, reached out to her and called her on the phone.
For the court’s records and for the younger jurors in attendance, this was a time before cell phones and text messages or emails, which is more the contact of choice in this age of technology.
My generation did not have the benefit of being humiliated via text messages.
No, we had to deal with this, face to face.
The girl and I agreed to meet or “hang out” as I believed.
We were scheduled to meet at a mutual friend’s house, which is where I assumed I was going to be allowed to have certain physical privileges that come with young lust and being a so-called boyfriend.
This assumption was later proved to be inaccurate.

Admittedly, my first attempt with this girl was a failure due to me being under the influence of several doses of mescaline. Thus, the hallucinogenic and the mixture of marijuana and teenage alcohol use did not coincide well.
This was certainly a challenge when I had to run and hide in the closet because her parents came home. And speaking of parents, I had poor experiences with fathers of teenage girls in the past. Some of which became hostile and slightly violent.
To add to the case, I submit this to be documented as well.

My fear of parents was due to a prior event.
I had been recently tossed from a young girl’s home by her father. I was invited to stay for dinner. However, the girl’s father was someone who noticed that my eyes were red and my pupils were large. This did not sit well with him.
He had asked about my shirt which I wore on the day of the incident.
Admittedly, I was unkempt, longhaired and my music of choice was considered loud, fast, aggressive, and perhaps even “devil worshiping,” depending upon the listener.
I was wearing a band shirt that represented a heavy metal band.
I can only surmise without proof that either the father, himself was neither a fan of the albums, the shirt, the music, or me, for that matter.

It was clear that I was not in a healthy state of mind. I was experiencing the visual effects of psychedelic drugs and saw difficulty when looking at the piece of chicken that resembled an oversized maggot next to a pile of string beans that looked like green worms. And yes, all foods appeared to be moving and slithering in place.

It was clear, at least to the father, that I was under the influence of illegal drugs.
The father looked at me with a slight impatience and asked about my shirt with a raised eyebrow and disapproving glare..
He calmly asked, “What’s that on the front of your shirt?” 
“It says Metallica,” I responded in an obvious, distorted voice.
I cannot confirm nor deny, but as best as I can recall, I was drooling slightly and fixated on the plate in front of me with a deranged expression on my face.

My eyes were watering, and I was perhaps horrified by the leach-like food that seemed to be slithering on my plate.

“What’s that picture,” asked the father as he inquired more about my shirt.
The shirt was the album cover of an album known as Ride the Lightning and the cover of the album was a picture of a man in an electric chair.

I answered, “it’s a guy being fried in an electric chair.”
Again, it cannot be guaranteed or proven but suffice to say that my tone and speech was indicative of a young teenager on drugs.

My eyes were fixated on the plate as I was still unsure how I was going to eat the slippery-slop of what appeared like a huge maggot and green worms.

“And what does it say on the back of your shirt,” asked the father.
To clarify, the back of my shirt was a different album cover from the same band.
The name of the album was Kill’em All and the picture was that of a small sledgehammer and a pool of blood.

I responded “Kill’em All” with a wild but slurred response.
Something happened. . .
I realized that I was being lifted from my seat and carried away from the family’s dinner table.
My legs remained stiff as if I was still sitting in the chair. I was unsure of what was about to happen.
The father reached, opened the front door of his home, and then he tossed me from the top of his stoop and I landed on the grass in his front yard.
I do not have a clear memory of how this happened. However, I can clearly remember that the father was standing over me as I was laying on his front lawn.
He told me, “YOU are going to stay far away from my daughter!” Our conversation was concluded with his affirmation of, “Understand?”
And of course, naturally, I agreed.

Hence, this was my reason to be careful of going to girls’ or to a girlfriend’s home because parents and I were not a great mixture. Hence, my reason for hiding in the closet when my new “about-to-be” girlfriend invited me over.

On the day in question, I planned to meet my new, so-called girlfriend at a mutual friend’s house because her parents were not going to be home.

This was going to be a score, or so I thought
But no.
This was a setup.
I arrived to notice the two, my girlfriend and the mutual friend were sitting in the mutual friend’s room.

The girl looked at me. Her blue eyes twinkled and her 1980’s fashion was enough to make me excited that I was going to have a chance with her behind a closed door.
“I have to tell you something,” said my girlfriend.
“What,” I asked.
“I don’t want to be your girlfriend anymore.”

I made sure not to be too high for this experience. I was uncomfortable at best and needed some liquid courage — which is why I allowed myself a little of the spirits and some weed to settle my nerves.
She smiled somewhat politely and gently.
“I am breaking up with you.”
What?
Huh?

She told me that the boy she liked called her when he found out that she was dating me.
She told me that she liked him before me and that she was going to go out with him
And not me . . .
He was older.
Bigger.
Stronger.
Better looking.
Cooler too.
And what was I?
I was a pawn or an otherwise sacrificial chess piece.

I asked if she wanted to think about this.
She said no.
She told me she was confused.
I inquired, “Well, then you must not like him that much.”
She told me, “ No, I love him!”
“Well,” I asked, “am I the first choice or second?”
“Second,” she told me.
Then she told me, “Well, not really.”
Then she told me, “I don’t want to go out with you anymore.”
“I’m sorry”
“I love someone else.”

I sift through this and through the countless earlier memories of my dating and so-called experiences from my youth.
Please note that this did not improve very much as the years went on.
And again, I am not requesting Your Honor or the jury show leniency, but more, I request a fair level of understanding to allow us to go forward.

In fairness to the questions of my background or my youthful challenges; yes, I agree that I have carried longstanding rejections throughout my life.
I agree that I believed there were certain inaccuracies that were actually true about me, that I was ugly, or that I was unwanted or undesirable, unlikeable, and worst of all, unlovable.

I admit to the courts that I grew up with problems about my body, my looks, my teeth, my face and the crookedness in my eyes and ears.
I admit to my use of mind altering substances, alcohol, and that I had a habitual pattern which kept me altered and far from realistic thinking.

Let the record reflect that this was the first time I ever swore that I would never be a fool again.
However, I was wrong about this. There were more foolish moments and more humiliating features and while I can look back and laugh about “some” of these things, I can recognize how I carried the weight of my insecurities for a very long time.
This is why I have chosen to unburden myself at the door while I testify.

I am guilty of sin. I am guilty of being alive.
I am guilty of believing lies and, of course, I am guilty of furthering and perpetrating unfair and unhealthy treatment of others.
I apologize for this.
I apologize but my understanding was warped and misguided and equally, I supposed this was normal for someone “like me.”

On a side note, I do not know or remember who the girl was or where I was when the father threw me out from the front door, and over the stoop of his home.
I remember the girlfriend though . . .

I often wonder what that other girl must have thought about me when it was exposed that I was not worthy of being a boyfriend and essentially, I was used to make someone jealous. 
Or in the other case, I wonder what the family dinner was like after the father launched me out of the front door.

I wonder if the father sat back down, quietly, and finished his meal. Or did he let his daughter know that he would kill me, dead and hide the body or he would do the same to anyone like me if she ever brought me (or someone like me) home for dinner again.

Ah capricious youth –

I suppose some questions can never be answered.
But that’s for another day of the jury’s deliberation.
For now, I am only here to defend my life.
Therefore, I request that the courts grant me a recess to further my efforts and build my facts and evidence so that I can eventually rest my case.

All in favor?