Busy as a bee!

Well, journal, it's been a while since I last checked in, but life has kept me on my toes. Lately, I've been caught up in work—an amazing job with excellent pay, something that feels rewarding both financially and mentally. But, of course, the money never seems to stretch as far as the time it took to earn it. It's like there's always something else calling for it, you know?

On the bright side, I finally got my Harley-Davidson! A dream come true, and I’ve been itching to take it out every chance I get. There’s something about the freedom of the open road that gets me out of my own head, a true sense of calm that’s hard to find elsewhere. Between work and everything else, those rides have become a bit of therapy, a way to unwind and leave the stress behind, even if just for a little while.

And then there’s the house. After all this time and effort, I'm finally looking at closing on a place of my own. It feels like a huge milestone, one I've been waiting on for years. The thought of having a space that's mine, to make into a real home, is a dream that’s finally becoming reality. Here’s hoping it all goes smoothly.

Dear You

Dear you,

I just want you to know that I forgive you. I’ve spent a lot of time reflecting on everything that happened between us, and I’ve come to realize that the choices you made like the prostitution and manipulation, as painful as they were for me to witness and experience, were likely the only way you knew to survive. I understand now that the path you chose—things that caused so much chaos in my life—were your ways of getting by, your methods of navigating a world that might not have given you any other options.

I won’t pretend it didn’t hurt. It did. But holding onto that pain only keeps me anchored to the past, and I refuse to let it have that power over me anymore. I don't harbor ill feelings towards you; instead, I wish you find a way to heal and grow. This is my way of releasing what once felt like an endless cycle of hurt and resentment. I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for, and I hope life treats you better moving forward.

Take care.

My Worth!

I will never understand how I let myself get tangled up with someone like that—a complete whore! What was I even thinking? How did I ever believe there was any potential for something real, something meaningful? It's baffling to me how I allowed myself to be deceived by empty promises and superficial charm. It feels like I was drawn into a web of lies, convincing myself that this could be something more than what it clearly was.

But here's the thing—since then, I've realized my own value. I’ve stopped allowing the scum of the earth to creep into my life. It’s funny how things change when you take out the trash. Life just gets better. Suddenly, bills are paid, I’ve got reliable transportation, and I'm getting my life back on track. I’m even starting college again to pursue my LCDC.

It's a powerful feeling, recognizing that I don’t have to settle for less, that I’m worth so much more than the garbage I used to put up with. I’m not going back. I’ve learned my lesson, and I’m done with letting anyone or anything drag me down. I know what I bring to the table now, and I’m not letting anyone take that from me again.

I Am Worthy

I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to finally understand that I deserve the better things in life. For so many years, I was living under this false impression that I didn’t deserve good things, like I somehow wasn’t worthy of happiness or respect. I look back now and realize how many trashy people—especially women—I allowed into my life. I gave my energy to people who didn’t deserve it, who offered nothing but drama and toxicity, and I accepted it like it was normal. I settled for the bare minimum, for less than what I actually needed or wanted, like I didn’t have the right to ask for more.

But something has shifted. Now, I wouldn’t even entertain them for a second. I wouldn’t give those same people the time of day if they tried to come back into my life. It’s crazy to me how much my perspective has changed. I see now just how trashy they were, and how far beneath me they really were. It’s not even about thinking I’m better than anyone—it's about recognizing that I am worth more, and I shouldn’t have to lower my standards or accept crap just to keep people around.

I’ve spent too long settling for mediocrity, convincing myself that it was all I deserved. But now I know that’s not true. I deserve more than just surviving. I deserve happiness, love, respect, and good people around me. From here on out, I’m raising the bar. No more letting trashy people into my life. I’m done settling for anything less than what I’m worth.

The Power of Private Investigators: My Newfound Respect for the Profession

I have to admit, I never gave much thought to private investigators. Like most people, I figured they were just the ones lurking in the shadows with a camera, snapping a few covert pictures, and maybe following someone around. Little did I know how wrong I was. After a recent deep dive into their world, I've come to respect the hell out of what they do. The power these professionals wield is nothing short of amazing.

To be blunt, I didn't realize how damn good they are at their jobs. They aren't just playing detective; they're methodical, thorough, and have this knack for uncovering details that would escape the average eye. It's like they've got a sixth sense for sniffing out hidden truths. They know how to navigate the fine line between legality and getting results, which is where their real power lies. That’s a skill you don’t learn overnight.

From uncovering fraud, proving infidelity, to digging up dirt on someone's background, these folks are on a level I never expected. The moment you hire a private investigator, it’s like flipping on a light switch in a dark room. Suddenly, things you couldn’t see, couldn’t figure out, start coming into focus. They dig deeper, move faster, and operate more effectively than most of us can even imagine.

The tools they have at their disposal? Insane. And the ways they use those tools, well, let’s just say there are few things they can’t figure out. It’s not just about following someone to see if they’re meeting up with someone they shouldn’t. They’re building timelines, cross-referencing data, pulling up old records, and piecing together evidence in ways that make you wonder how they can keep it all straight.

Hiring a private investigator isn’t just about spying on someone, it’s about finding the truth. Whether it's proving someone lied, confirming suspicions, or simply giving you peace of mind, they deliver results that make a real difference.

I have a whole new respect for the profession, and anyone who has worked with one knows exactly what I’m talking about. They’re not just out there with a camera and some binoculars – they’re professionals, and damn good ones at that.

Skeletons

Recently, I’ve come to a stark realization about the nature of crossing paths with others: if you choose to go down that road, you had better be sure that there aren’t any skeletons lurking in your closet. It’s easy to forget, but life has a way of unearthing those hidden truths when you least expect it. The things you thought were long buried, the secrets you convinced yourself would never see the light of day, can suddenly be brought out into the open. And when that happens, it’s not just a minor disruption—it has the potential to completely turn your life upside down.

Everything you’ve worked to build, your relationships, your career, your sense of security, can all be shaken to the core. What you thought was private can become public, and the weight of that exposure can be crushing. It’s a reminder that actions have ripple effects, and sometimes those ripples reach further than you ever imagined, especially when there are unresolved matters lying in wait. There’s a vulnerability in knowing that the skeletons you hide can become weapons others use against you. And when that day comes, it’s not just about facing your past—it’s about surviving the aftermath as your world potentially unravels before your eyes.

Trial Time

Well, journal, here we go!

Looks like we’re headed to trial. I tried every way to dodge this, but it seems like there's no avoiding it now.

The good news? This time, I’ve got a damn good lawyer on my side. Decided to drop the pro se act—no more solo rides through this legal storm. With a solid legal team backing me up and Melissa at the helm, ready to call the witnesses who’ll speak the truth, I get my chance to finally defend myself, to prove once and for all that I'm not the monster some people are making me out to be.

Preparations Are Underway

Journal Entry: Preparations for the March to The Department Of Justice Washington, DC 

August 2024

The march isn’t starting today, but the groundwork is being laid. The idea of walking from Fort Worth to Washington, DC feels like a massive undertaking, but each step in the preparation process is bringing me closer to making it a reality.

Right now, it's all about logistics—planning the route, figuring out how to cover 48 miles each day for a total of 29 days, and making sure everything is in place for the live streams on TikTok. The goal is to make sure the world sees this journey, understands what I've been through, and watches as I march to demand justice.

This is strictly about justice. I’m tired of the wrongdoings that have been piled on me over the past year. It's time to make my voice heard, to stand up against the lies and the corruption, and to show that I won't be silenced. Enough is enough.

There's a lot to consider—where I'll rest each night, how to keep the momentum going, and ensuring I have the right gear to handle the journey. Every detail matters. This isn't just a walk; it's a statement.

I'm preparing mentally and physically, too. Fifty miles a day isn't a casual stroll—it's going to push me to my limits. But that's exactly what I need right now. This is a fight, and I'm ready to go the distance.

The support I've received so far has been incredible. Knowing that people will be tuning in, following along, and cheering me on during the march is giving me the strength to keep pushing forward.

As I finalize the details, I can feel the anticipation building. This march is going to be a testament to my resilience and determination. It's about showing Denton County, Tarrant County, and the world that I won’t back down.

When the time comes, I'll be ready to take that first step out of Fort Worth, live-streaming every mile, every challenge, and every victory. This is the calm before the storm, and I’m ready to make some noise.

2.5 Hours

The feeling of being unheard is an agonizing weight upon my soul. Is death the only way to finally break through this deafening silence? Why is it that my words, my thoughts, my very existence, seem to matter only when they serve the needs and desires of others? Why is it that my voice, my truth, my cries for understanding, are so effortlessly silenced?

I am not the monster they paint me to be. I am not the villain in their self-serving narrative. I am a human being, with a beating heart, with dreams and fears, with hopes and regrets. But in their eyes, I am nothing more than a convenient scapegoat, a vessel for their blame, a target for their scorn.

Now, in the face of their relentless attacks, not even a flicker of hope remains within me. In my death I hope that someday, someone, will see through the lies, will hear my unspoken words, will recognize the truth that lies buried beneath the surface. I have no strength to resist, I must surrender to their twisted game and end my story today.

Farewell

To everyone in this cruel, ugly world,

I'm writing this to say goodbye. I've spent too long trying to understand and fit into a society filled with manipulators, liars, cheaters, and thieves. I used to feel bad because I didn't fit in, but now I see that to fit in, I'd have to lower my standards, and that's something I'll never do.

This world isn’t for me. It’s built on deceit and betrayal, and I refuse to be a part of it any longer. I've kept my integrity and values intact, even when it meant standing alone. The pain of being different, of not conforming to the twisted norms of this society, has weighed heavily on me, but I've always chosen the high road.

Throughout my life, I've encountered people who have done nothing but take advantage of my kindness, manipulate my trust, and betray my faith in humanity. Each encounter has been a harsh reminder of the darkness that pervades this world. From so-called friends who turned their backs on me, to those who lied and cheated their way into my life, each experience has chipped away at my spirit.

I used to believe that there was good in everyone, that somewhere beneath the surface, there was a spark of decency. But time and time again, I've been proven wrong. The world is full of people who would rather step on others to get ahead than extend a hand to help. It's a sad reality, but one I can no longer ignore.

I've fought my battles, faced my demons, and endured more than anyone should have to. But I'm tired. Tired of the constant struggle to maintain my dignity in a world that has none. Tired of trying to find light in the darkness when all that surrounds me is shadows.

To those who have shown me kindness and love, I thank you. You were the rare exceptions in a sea of cruelty. Your presence was a balm to my soul, and I am grateful for the moments of peace and understanding you provided.

But to the rest, to the manipulators, the liars, the cheaters, and the thieves – this is my farewell. You will no longer have the power to hurt me. I am taking my leave from this world that never understood me and never will.

Goodbye to a society that values deceit over honesty, treachery over loyalty, and self-interest over compassion. I choose to hold on to my principles, my sense of right and wrong, even if it means walking this path alone.

Farewell.

Curtis

It's Time

Ugly World! You Win! 

I Just Don't Understand

I don't understand some people. I don't understand how they can go about their lives and sleep in peace knowing that they've lied and the havoc they're wreaking on someone's life. It's as if they have no conscience or empathy, oblivious to the pain they cause. The weight of their deceit and the destruction it brings feels unbearable at times. We can only be persecuted for so long. We can only be accused of so many things we haven't done before it breaks something inside us. But see, I'm not a violent person. I don't seek revenge because revenge brings its own karma. Eventually, you have to answer to the man upstairs.

Violence isn't my way. I'm violent to myself. You don't have to beat me up because I do that enough on a daily basis. You don't have to try to kill me because I wish to die almost every day. The internal battles I face are relentless, and the self-loathing is a constant companion. Every accusation, every lie told about me, chips away at my spirit. Yet, I hold on to the hope that one day, the truth will prevail and those who have wronged me will face their own reckoning. Until then, I continue to fight this silent war within myself, struggling to find peace amidst the chaos.

Justice Time!

Well, journal, here we go again—arrested once more because of you-know-who! It’s exhausting and frustrating, but I’m holding on to the silver linings. First and foremost, my job has been an absolute blessing. It gives me stability, purpose, and a sense of normalcy in this chaotic storm. Despite everything, I’m thankful for the routine and support it provides.

On the legal front, there’s finally some good news. No more GPS required! That’s a huge weight off my shoulders. The constant surveillance was suffocating and made me feel like I had no control over my own life. Now, I can breathe a little easier and start to reclaim some of my freedom and privacy.

But the best part of all? I’ve got some serious support now. A few big hitters in the government have stepped up and are on my side. It feels like I finally have some powerful allies who see the truth and are willing to fight for me. It’s about time things started looking up. This battle is far from over, but for the first time in a long while, I feel like I’ve got a real shot at turning things around.

Curtis A Wheat

Ladies and Gentlemen,

We gather here today to honor and remember Curtis, a man whose life was marked by both incredible resilience and deep challenges. Born on November 2, 1970, Curtis was a father, a grandfather, an Army veteran, and a survivor of immense personal battles.

Curtis's journey through life was anything but easy. From witnessing a horrific act of self-harm in the military that left him with PTSD to struggling with addiction and homelessness, he faced obstacles that would have defeated many. Yet, Curtis always found a way to push through. He fought tirelessly to overcome the demons that haunted him, and on July 17, 2023, he celebrated a significant milestone—his clean date.

Curtis was a father who loved his children—Arielle, Katelyn, Dylan, and Joel—and a proud grandfather to Olivia. He always wanted to be a dad when he grew up, and despite the difficulties he faced, his love for his family remained a guiding light in his life.

His struggle with mental health was a significant part of his story. Diagnosed with PTSD in 2015 and borderline personality disorder in 2023, Curtis faced his battles head-on, using Dialectical Behavior Therapy to manage his symptoms. His determination to find peace and stability was unwavering.

Curtis's life was also marked by heartbreak and betrayal. His relationships, particularly with Antonella, brought both joy and pain. He faced false accusations and legal battles with courage, seeking justice and standing up for his truth. Despite the turmoil, Curtis never lost his sense of humor or his ability to find light in the darkest of times.

Curtis was a man who never resorted to violence, always choosing to internalize his struggles. His defense mechanism was to hide and disappear, a testament to the deep wounds he carried from childhood. He was a victim of circumstances, yet he always strived to be better, to heal, and to move forward.

As we remember Curtis, let us honor his resilience, his love for his family, and his relentless fight against the odds. He was a man who faced immense challenges but never gave up. He found strength in his darkest moments and continued to push forward, always hoping for a better tomorrow.

Curtis, your journey was tough, but your spirit was unbreakable. You have left an indelible mark on the hearts of those who knew you. May you find the peace and rest that eluded you in life. We will remember you always, with love and respect.

4 Days

If you only had 4 days left, what would you do? Would you throw a wild party, living without rules and restrictions, indulging in every whim and desire? Would you gather all your friends and family, making those final moments unforgettable with laughter, music, and celebration? Imagine the joy of dancing under the stars, sharing stories, and reliving the best moments of your life with the people who mean the most to you. The energy, the love, the camaraderie – it would be a beautiful farewell to the life you've known.

Or would you seek solace in the company of a loved one, cherishing the time you have left together, creating memories that would last in their hearts forever? Imagine spending those fleeting moments with the love of your life, experiencing a deep, passionate connection you've never known before, even if it was only for 4 days. Would you explore new places, take spontaneous road trips, or simply stay in each other's arms, savoring the intimacy and love that fills the air? The thought of sharing such profound emotions, even for a short time, is enticing. Perhaps you'd visit a place you've always dreamed of seeing, or maybe you'd stay close to home, finding comfort in the familiar.

Or would you choose a path of vengeance, confronting those who have wronged you, seeking justice, or at least a sense of closure before your time runs out? The idea of facing your enemies and setting things right might be tempting, offering a sense of control and resolution that has eluded you for so long. Would you track down each person who has caused you pain, demanding accountability, or would you find a way to make peace with the past, letting go of the anger and hurt that have held you back? Revenge might seem sweet, but would it truly bring you the satisfaction you seek?

Perhaps you'd spend those days reflecting on your life, finding peace within yourself, and making amends with your past. Would you write letters to those you care about, leaving behind words of love, wisdom, and forgiveness? Imagine the impact of your heartfelt messages, providing comfort and guidance to your loved ones after you're gone. Or maybe you'd seek out new experiences, things you've always wanted to do but never found the time or courage to pursue. Skydiving, scuba diving, learning to play an instrument, or simply watching a sunrise from a mountaintop – the possibilities are endless.

Four days is not much time; in the blink of an eye, it's over. The urgency of such a limited timeframe forces us to consider what truly matters, what we value most, and how we wish to leave our mark on the world and those we love. Would you spend time with your children, imparting your wisdom and showering them with love? Would you reconnect with old friends, mending broken relationships and reminiscing about the good times? Would you take a moment for yourself, finding tranquility in nature, meditating, or simply sitting in silence, appreciating the beauty of the world around you?

Just think about it. What would you do? How would you want to be remembered? Would you seek adventure, love, revenge, or peace? The choice is yours, and every moment counts. In those final days, you have the opportunity to live fully, to love deeply, and to leave a legacy that reflects your true self. So, what would you do with your last 4 days?

Independence Day

As a kid, I used to love the 4th of July. It was the time when families got together during the day, cooked out, swam, and had a barbecue. Everywhere you turned, you could smell the grills going. Some of us kids would run around during the day, lighting smoke bombs and those little snakes. You know, the ones that look like big black cheese puffs when they burn. Not to mention putting firecrackers in just about everything we thought we could blow up without actually doing harm—ant hills, eggs, pieces of fruit, anything non-destructive.

Then night came, and it was time for the good fireworks. Kids ran around with sparklers while dads manned the punks that lit the fireworks. If those weren’t available, our dads would use a cigarette to keep the fireworks going. It was a good time. At least, it used to be.

Now, in today's society, it seems like families have fallen apart. Families have lost the value of being a family. I’ve had girlfriends exchange nudes with one of my boys. Another girlfriend tried to get with one of my nephews, someone who portrayed herself as the love of my life. And if that wasn’t enough to ruin the holiday, my time in the Army definitely was.

You see, I don’t mind the fireworks that come in repetition. It’s the one-offs that get me. Since I started all the therapy and treatment—DBT, CPT, CBT, you name it—they’ve brought back the nightmares and flashbacks with a vengeance. I tried to sleep most of the day off, but I couldn’t. This evening, a neighbor was popping off some big ones one at a time, and I woke up smelling blood in the air to the point where I could even taste it.

Despite all this, I’m working on healing. Therapy has brought back the nightmares and flashbacks, but it’s also helping me face them. It’s tough, but each session peels back another layer of pain, helping me process it. I’m learning to cope, finding new ways to handle the triggers. The 4th of July will never be the same, but I’m determined to reclaim some of that joy. It’s a long road, but I’m on it, one step at a time.

That was all going well until I realized that one of the most destructive people I’ve ever met was not who she played out to be. She was a wolf in sheep's clothing—a beautiful sheep, I’ll give her that, but the devil in disguise to say the least. Now I’m being faced with 10 to 20 years in prison, of which I will not do—that part I’m sure of. 

I still utilize everything I’ve learned in DBT to try to maintain, but no amount of therapy or distress tolerance or interpersonal effectiveness can prepare you for the hell I’ve been through. Her lies got me arrested, and then the malicious rumors spread around my apartment complex got a neighbor to the point of trying to eliminate me. She pulled a gun on me and threatened my life on several occasions. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I would not look away or run away from her if it was her choice to do so.

All of this has done greater harm than most people can imagine. I’ve now lost the will to live. There’s nothing left for me, and on the SUD scale, I might be at a two or three—and that’s only because of the loud bangs, not because of the end of my story. Because I knew it was going to eventually happen. 

I’m not sure who reads these. Maybe they don’t even read them now, but they will after the 10th. I just hope somebody learns from this. I mean, I don’t think my legacy is going to be far-reaching, but maybe it’ll help someone understand that just because we have a flaw or some mental illness doesn’t mean that we have to be caged up like an animal. But it’s okay.

Good night DFW!

Happy 4th!

Will it be 6 or 12?

Well, the state doesn't want to budge on giving me 10 to 20 years in prison. Why? Because I loved someone with all my heart? I thought she was my ride or die, my forever. We had plans, dreams, and a future that I believed in so completely. But now, here I am, facing this nightmare. It feels like I'm being punished for simply caring too deeply and trusting the wrong person. 

This whole ordeal has taken such a toll on me, emotionally and mentally. It’s crazy how loving someone can lead to such drastic consequences. I never imagined that my feelings would lead to such a catastrophic chain of events. Every day feels like I'm walking on a tightrope, not knowing if I'll make it to the other side.

The 10th will let me know where my story ends. It's the day that could change everything, for better or worse. I'm 100 percent ready for the outcome. Six will carry me before twelve judge me. This phrase echoes in my mind constantly, a grim reminder of the stakes at play. 

It's hard to wrap my head around the fact that my life could end like this, all because of a love that I once thought was pure and everlasting. But enough about that. I've got to keep my head up and face whatever comes my way. I guess we'll see how it all plays out soon. Until then, I'll just keep holding on to whatever hope I have left.

I mean, why is it that I can be painted as this villain when all I did was yell and scream because I was hurt? Now, I'm labeled as a stalker? I was ghosted, completely left in the dark. I didn’t know what was going on, and then a check showed up. I tried to give it back to her, but she didn’t want the $1,900, so I sent it back to the sender. It’s all good, though. I’m tired of this world anyway. I'm kind of looking forward to closing my eyes forever. I won’t have to see the lies and the bullshit that life has to offer anymore. I won't have to see the heinous, nasty people out there taking advantage of others. 

I do know one thing: when the time comes, I want to be cremated and thrown into the ocean. I don't want to be buried in the United States. I don't want to be any part of it. I'm starting to hate this country and everything it represents. The constant lies, the corruption, the way good people get painted as villains while the real villains walk free—it’s all just too much. I’ve done my best to navigate through it, but it feels like every step forward is met with ten steps back. 

Why should I keep fighting a battle that feels so damn rigged against me? Maybe in the end, the peace I find in death will be the only true solace I ever get. At least then, I won’t have to endure the endless cycle of hurt and betrayal. And I definitely won’t have to put up with any more of the garbage this world throws at me.

On top of everything, I had to lose my home because rumors about me being a stalker and a woman-beater got around my apartments. I had guns pulled on me, and I was told I was going to die. The fear, the constant threat to my life, it all became too much to bear. Imagine being ostracized and vilified for something you didn't do, having your very existence threatened because of lies. It's like living in a nightmare where there's no escape. I'm done with it. This world has shown me enough cruelty and hatred, and I'm ready to find peace away from it all.

I was nervous. I mean who wouldn't be but now I just want it to hurry and be done with! 

Last call! Who Did I Forget?

I'm not sure where to begin or how to end. All I can say is that if you really knew me, I wouldn't be writing this letter today. I don't think anyone truly knows who I am because whenever I try to show who I am, people use it against me or see it as an opportunity to take advantage.

I'm not here to change anybody because I know that's not going to happen. No matter how much I change, everyone else will stay the same in this dark, manipulative, lying, advantage-taking society that we've become. Don't get me wrong, not everyone is like that. Some of you have been a blessing in my life, but unfortunately, there aren't enough of you to outweigh the ugliness of this world.

I find it disheartening to see how prevalent deceit and selfishness have become. It's like a virus that's spread too far to contain. Every time I think I've found a glimmer of hope, it gets overshadowed by another act of betrayal or cruelty. It's exhausting to keep fighting against this tide of negativity when it feels like the world is determined to stay the same.

I'll be editing this for the next few days as I remember more people to mention. Once I'm complete, there will be no turning back. This will be my final say on the matter, a testament to my experiences and the harsh reality I see around me.

To Doris

I was with you for over 25 years, and I still find you as beautiful today as when we first met. I'm sorry for how I reacted when everything went to hell. I wish I had listened to you and gotten a therapist or counselor before my dad passed. I thought I could handle it and believed that showing weakness would make me less of a man in your eyes. I used to think, how can a man be a man if he's asking for help and can't handle things himself? But I was wrong—so painfully wrong. 

You have a good man now. He won't raise his hand to you, and I don't believe he will raise his voice either. But if he ever does, Katy and the boys know what to do. Don't let anyone steal your joy, Doris. You're a strong woman, and you don't give yourself enough credit for how incredibly strong you are.

My family.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to see me end up this way. I lived too long inside that proverbial "man box." I should have known that emotions needed to flow freely and shouldn't be stifled. I now understand what it truly means to be a man, but it's too late now. The damage is done. be sure to remember me for who I was and not who I became.

To My kids,

I'm proud of you for learning to set boundaries and sticking to them. I want you to know that you are deeply missed. I may not have shown it much over the last couple of years, but I love you more than life itself. The sting of missing you has become unbearable.

Arielle, Katy,

I want you to be strong. It's in you and you know it. Life can be tough sometimes, but you've shown resilience and know how to set good boundaries. Between your mom and me, you've got a good skill set for living. Never let yourself be bullied by a man. If anyone ever puts their hands on you, do something about it. Teach people how to treat you. Don't let anyone push you around or lay hands on you, ever.

Dylan and Joel,

Remember the song I used to play for you? It tells you to find a good woman and to love God. Never raise your voice or your hand to a woman. A hand can bruise, but words can hurt even more and take longer to heal. Communicate and don't worry about showing emotion. Let it flow, because if you don't, what comes out might hurt everyone the most. Respect women, love them, and cherish them.

To Brendon.

I'm so sorry life turned out like it did for you. Lately, though, you've been doing a great job of bouncing back, and I want you to know how proud I am of what you're accomplishing, especially considering the circumstances of the life you were raised in. I never wanted that life for you, and what happened to you in my absence is something I deeply regret. 

I apologize that you had to endure it, and I know you blame me to a certain degree, but trust me, I had to make those choices for my own sanity and my own life. You've got a good head on your shoulders, and despite everything, you've managed to rise above it all. You've been through the shit, and yet here you are, proving to everyone that you do matter.

You can make the right decisions and be a good father, regardless of how you were raised. Every step you take forward, every positive change you make, it's a testament to your strength and resilience. Keep showing the world what you're made of. You have the power to break the cycle, to create a better life for yourself and those you care about. 

Stand tall, Brendon. You're doing an incredible job, and I believe in you.

To Rose,

You came along at a time when everything in my life was screwed up and out of control. Despite the chaos, you've been a constant beacon of light in this dark world. Your kindness and support have been unwavering, and I’m sorry for not giving you the best of me; you deserved better. Your presence has been a source of strength and hope, helping me navigate through the toughest times.

I often think about how much you've done for me and how I wish I could have been more for you. Your patience, understanding, and love have been more than I could have ever asked for, and I regret that my struggles have sometimes overshadowed the appreciation I have for you. You've been my anchor, keeping me grounded when the storms of life threatened to pull me under.

Thank you for being there, even when I couldn't offer you the same. Your light has not only illuminated my path but has also shown me the possibility of a brighter future. I hope you know how much you mean to me and how grateful I am for everything you've done. You are a rare and beautiful soul, and I am incredibly lucky to have you in my life.

To the few people I called friends.

My list has dwindled because, over time, you've shown your true colors, and for that, I'm deeply saddened. But to those who remained true friends, thank you for your kindness and friendship. To those I consider enemies, you had your chances and you've done your damage. You showed me a world of ugliness and hate that I can't tolerate. Yes, you turned me. You convinced me this world is not for me, and for that, you'll probably be proud. But I don't care if you are. Karma is a bitch, and you'll get paid back eventually.

To all the women who broke my heart.

You don't deserve the piece of my heart you took and twisted. It was on loan, and you took advantage of my trust and kindness. You turned my vulnerability into your weapon, leaving scars that still ache. I gave you a part of me, believing in the love we shared, only to have it shattered by your deceit and betrayal.

You played with my emotions, manipulating my feelings to suit your needs, and left me questioning my worth. The damage you caused runs deep, I hope love never finds you. I hope the rest of your life is filled with nothing but broken hearts and sadness.

To Denton County.

I want to thank you for failing me. You never listened to what I had to say or gave me the benefit of the doubt. At 17, I swore to defend you against all enemies, foreign and domestic, putting my life on the line for this country. Yet, when I needed you the most, you turned your back on me.

You failed me miserably, ignoring my years of service and sacrifice. Despite my unwavering loyalty and commitment, you chose to disregard my pleas and cast me aside. The trust I placed in you was shattered, and the support I so desperately needed was cruelly withheld.

Your failure to acknowledge my struggles and provide the help I needed has left a deep, lasting wound. I gave my all, enduring trauma and hardship, and in return, I received nothing but indifference and neglect. Thank you for showing me how truly broken and heartless the system is, leaving me to pick up the pieces of a life you so callously disregarded.

Your detective, who initially listened to my ex-girlfriend Antonella, is a liar. When your detectives arrested me, they told me I should have returned her calls, claiming she tried to reach out to me several times. That's a blatant lie. She tried to call my number one time, leaving a voicemail meant for Antonella, not me. That was the only indication I had that something was wrong. Not one detective, not one cop, not one person from your county has ever asked me a single question or looked at any evidence I have to substantiate my claims that everything she said was a lie..

To Homeland Security and Immigration.

Over the past year, I tirelessly sought assistance from your agency, but regrettably, my pleas fell on deaf ears. Despite my persistent efforts, which included reaching out to various governors' offices and the Attorney General of Texas, my appeals for help went unanswered.

I provided detailed accounts and evidence of the threats and challenges I faced, yet there was no meaningful response or support forthcoming. This prolonged lack of action left me in a precarious position, feeling abandoned and vulnerable within a system that should prioritize the safety and protection of its citizens.

Your inaction has played a significant role in the unfortunate turn of events I find myself in today. The lack of intervention and support from your agency has exacerbated my situation, contributing to the difficulties I have faced. I implored you to consider my case with the urgency it deserved. My situation was dire, and I urgently needed your intervention to ensure my safety and security.

Your prompt attention to this matter was crucial in preventing further harm and restoring my faith in the ability of our government to protect its citizens. Thank you for your lack of attention to this urgent matter.

To the Holston Apartments.

I sought refuge in your community, thinking I'd found a home. Instead, your rumors and lack of respect for privacy have made you complicit in turning my life into hell. Your lies and manipulations know no bounds, and you've made my home anything but a sanctuary.

To Irving Dietrich,

You're a smooth one, I'll give you that. You've been running your mouth, spreading malicious rumors about me, and keeping me on your lips for way too long. Despite your denials, some very honest and upstanding people have validated that you've been talking trash about me, making people fear me. 

The worst part is, you filled that young woman upstairs from me with heinous lies, scaring her so much she pulled a gun on me and threatened my life. It's not just about what you've done to me, but what you've done to her as well. For that, I hope karma deals you a nasty hand. 

To the black young woman upstairs.

I understand you were given misinformation about me, but your actions since then have been deeply hurtful. You pretended to be a friend, only to belittle and insult me in ways I've never experienced before. Your behavior has caused significant distress in my life. I hope you understand the impact of your words and actions. You have single-handedly started to turn me into a racist of which I've never been. I have never used the N word against anybody. but you, my dear are the first nigger I've ever known.

To the United States Army,

I want to thank you for failing me as well. When I came to you, I was very young, struggling for a place to belong, and when I swore in, I was one of the proudest kids in the country. Things were fine until I got to my duty station. I was in 11 Bravo, and you stuck me in the headquarters company support platoon. I wanted to be infantry, not a taxi driver.

But that wasn’t the bad part. The bad part was when that soldier came up to me on CQ duty. You know, the one who ended his life right in front of my eyes as I was making my last rounds the next morning. A scar on my soul that will never go away. Something I can never unsee, even to this day. The nightmares haunt me with the taste and smell of that incident.

You failed to introduce me to my unit. You failed to give me counseling. You failed to be there for me when I needed you most. Instead, you punished me and put me out, taking all my benefits from me that I had rightfully paid for.

To Antonella,

You really take the cake! When we first met, I wouldn't date you because I thought I had nothing to offer. I was placing value on material things, but in reality, I had so much love and my whole heart to give. Little did I know that from the beginning, you were scheming to build a domestic case against me to secure your citizenship.

In January, when I refused to marry your ex-mother-in-law, you threatened me, saying I was a dead man if anyone found out. I thought you were joking, but you were dead serious. You told everyone we broke up in January or February, but that was a lie. I have photos of you in our apartment almost every month until you ghosted me on November 3rd. You sent me pictures of wedding rings, dirty videos, and pictures to entice me.

One of the most disgusting things you did was trying to get me to abuse you in bed, saying you needed to be punished. You spit in my face and told me you cheated, trying to provoke me into anger, but I couldn't lay a hand on you because I loved you. I don't put my hands on people in anger. If I had, you would've had your grounds for a domestic case, but you couldn't make that happen because I'm not a violent person.

So, you twisted my calls to return your stuff or give you money right before Christmas into a stalking case. I hope they throw you in jail, and when you finally get out, I hope they deport you so you can struggle for the rest of your life. And when it's all over, I hope you burn in hell.

To the Fort Worth Police Department,

I want to extend my heartfelt thanks for showing blatant favoritism instead of siding with justice. Over the past several months, I have reached out to you numerous times regarding my ex-girlfriend and the woman living upstairs who has pulled a gun on me and threatened my life on multiple occasions. Despite my desperate pleas for help, you have done nothing about it. 

I have footage of this woman wrestling with your officer, resisting arrest to the point that it knocked his body cam off his uniform, and yet you still let her go. I had the misfortune of hearing her laugh to her friends about how she was in the squad car but was let off without any consequences. When you looked up my background, you claimed to understand why she acted the way she did and used that as justification to let her go. Where is the justice in that? Why is she more deserving of leniency and protection than I am?

Has she ever sworn to defend this country? Did she ever agree to lay her life on the line to ensure that you and your family could enjoy the freedoms and lifestyle you have? I think not. Instead, you allow her to continue to threaten my life and subject me to more racial slurs than I have ever heard in my life. This treatment is a slap in the face to someone who has served and sacrificed for this country.

Your actions, or rather, inactions, have shown a clear bias and have left me feeling abandoned and betrayed by those who are supposed to protect and serve. Your lack of response and failure to administer justice in these situations is not only deeply disappointing but also dangerous. It emboldens individuals who threaten the safety and well-being of others, knowing they will face no repercussions.

Thank you for showing me where your loyalties lie and for making it painfully clear that justice is not blind in Fort Worth.

To Brent,

For the longest time, ever since I was a young boy and we left that courtroom with you only receiving probation, I had meticulously planned your demise. I fantasized for many years about the various ways I could exact my revenge, debating whether to prolong your suffering or make it quick. Thirty-something years is a long time, and I was poised and ready to head to North Carolina to confront you. Your fate was in my hands.

But then, on the day I was set to leave, I found you on Facebook. I asked if you were ready to talk, and you responded with your phone number. For that, I am grateful. Our conversation was a turning point for me. While we talked, you freed me from questioning myself—my sexuality, what I did to deserve such a heinous act. By the end of our conversation, I remember you telling me how scared you had been, wondering where I was. For a brief moment, I took some delight in knowing I had that power over you. But it was short-lived. Not long after that, I told you I loved you like a brother and forgave you like a Christian. I meant it. I let all that anger go that day.

One of the good things that came out of it was realizing the depth of my anger toward you. I knew I had so much rage directed at you that I couldn’t let it flow toward anybody else. The day I freed myself from all that anger, I knew I would never experience such intense fury again and that I could never bring harm to anyone. You’ll never fully grasp the ripple effect of what that one act had on my life. I was unable to trust men, and for a long time, women were only a tool for me to try to prove my manhood. But looking back, I’m not sure if I was trying to prove my manhood or my innocence.

I forgive you, and I hope one day you can put all of this behind you. Hopefully, you’ve learned what not to do. Thank you for taking my call that day. It had a profound effect on my life, freeing me in ways I hadn't anticipated. I realized that forgiveness wasn't for you; it was for me. It freed me from the bond that you and I had.

To everyone who's never met me:

Opinions about me vary depending on who you ask. But I'm pretty simple. I don't need much more than what the average person has. I'm not into extravagant things. I just want to be loved, have enough money to pay my bills, and maybe take a vacation once a year. That's it. Nothing more. I want people to respect my space and my stuff—what's mine is mine, and what's yours is yours. And most importantly, leave my woman and kids alone.

To Mr. Gainey at Havelock High,

I know you don't remember me. You never gave me a second thought, even when I was a student at your school. You probably only remember the girls that you had sitting on your lap every time I came into your office. 

But I remember the last day I was at the school. I was struggling. I was being teased and tormented beyond belief. Hundreds of nasty pictures were stuffed in my locker every day between classes. I was called every unfavorable name you could imagine.

When I finally sought help and came to you, you made a reference to me calming down and having a beer. A detail that was only directed at the event I was being teased about. 

You're one of the reasons I can never seek help because when I did, you made a mockery of it by making that reference to the beer. What happened to me was not a joke. It was nothing for you to make fun of.

A Man Named Curtis

Once there was a man named Curtis who had endured more than his share of trials in life. From early childhood trauma to battles with PTSD and depression as an adult, he fought hard to find stability. Curtis believed in the goodness of people, despite his own struggles.

Then, he met Antonella. She seemed like a beacon of hope at first, someone who understood his pain. But as their relationship deepened, Antonella's accusations grew more frequent and vicious. Despite Curtis's protests of innocence, no one listened. In Denton County, Texas, the system failed him. They saw a man with a troubled past and chose to believe the worst.

They never asked about his side of the story, never considered his pain or the demons he faced daily. Instead, they painted him as a monster, condemning him with their silence and their judgments. Curtis felt the weight of their assumptions crushing him, pushing him to the edge of despair.

In a world that should have offered compassion, Curtis found only condemnation. Society, quick to judge and slow to understand, pushed him further from hope. Unable to bear the weight of false accusations and the indifference of those around him, Curtis made a decision that echoed with tragic finality.

As Curtis's story ended, it left behind a haunting question: how many good people, like him, are lost because society failed to see their humanity? It's a reminder that kindness and understanding are not just virtues but necessities in a world where judgment can be as harmful as any weapon.

The story of Curtis serves as a stark reminder that behind every accusation lies a human being with a story of their own—a story that deserves to be heard and understood, not condemned and forgotten.

If I Could Close My Eyes

What do you do when all you want is to close your eyes, and that's the only thing you can think about? Every time you get a tiny glimmer of hope that things might change, someone or something always crushes it. That's exactly where I'm at today. I feel like I have no fight left in me. I just wish I could keep my eyes closed forever. I don't want to see the world's ugliness anymore, and I certainly don't want to see the ugly, messed-up people around me. I damn sure don't want to see them bring out the ugliness in me.

It's as if every time I start to believe things might get better, life finds a way to drag me back down into the depths of despair. I'm so mentally and emotionally drained, it's like I'm carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders. There used to be a time when I had hope, when I believed that eventually, things would turn around. But now, that hope feels like a distant memory, a faint whisper that gets drowned out by the overwhelming noise of my struggles.

I'm exhausted. Not just tired, but bone-deep weary. Every day feels like a battle that I can't win, a never-ending cycle of disappointment and heartbreak. The world seems to be filled with so much darkness, and it's becoming harder and harder to find any light. The negativity is suffocating, and I feel like I'm slowly being buried under it all.

Seeing people who only bring out the worst in me makes it even harder. It's like they revel in my misery, taking pleasure in my pain. I don't want to be around them, don't want to be reminded of how far I've fallen. I long for a moment of peace, a brief respite from the constant turmoil that has become my life.

But that peace seems so elusive, like a mirage in the desert. No matter how hard I try to reach it, it slips through my fingers, leaving me more broken and desolate than before. I just want to close my eyes and never open them again, to escape this relentless suffering and where the pain can't touch me anymore.

I'm Tired

I'm just tired of being broke all the time. To be honest, I'm just tired of everything. Tired of having nothing, tired of having to struggle, tired of no one listening. You know, if the court had listened when I was a kid, three other kids wouldn't have been molested. If that young soldier had listened to me, we would have avoided the tragic suicide I had to witness. If Christina had listened to me, she wouldn't have been raped by those guys at the bar. And if Denton had listened to me, I wouldn't have lost everything again.

It's like I'm always shouting into the void, and no one cares enough to hear. This constant battle against an uncaring world has wore me down. I wake up every day feeling like I'm just existing, not living. It feels like the weight of every bad decision, every ignored warning, and every missed opportunity is crushing me.

I think about all the times I've tried to warn people, tried to make them see what was coming. But it's like I'm invisible, my voice unheard. If people just took a moment to listen, so much pain could have been avoided. But here I am, left to pick up the pieces of a life shaped by others' fucked up agendas and my own misfortune.

I'm tired of the struggle. Every day feels like a fight for survival, and it's exhausting. It’s not just about being broke; it's about the emotional and mental toll of constantly trying to keep my head above water. No one really sees how deep the struggle goes. They see a man trying to make it through the day, but they don't see the inner battles, the scars that aren't visible.

If only people had listened, things could have been so different. Maybe I wouldn't feel so alone, so defeated. Maybe I could finally find some peace and start healing from all the past wounds. But for now, it feels like I'm trapped in this endless cycle of pain and frustration. And I'm just so damn tired of it all.

I'm at a point now where all the planning is done. I've figured out the how and the what; the only thing left is the when. I can't say for sure if there's still a small tank sliver of hope left inside me or if I'm just too scared to follow through. Every day, I find myself wondering why I haven't done it yet. Maybe some part of me is holding on, hoping that things will change, or maybe it's the fear of the unknown that keeps me from taking that final step. Each morning I wake up and ask myself the same question: what's stopping me?

---

I lied

I lied. I do have something to say. I hate you, world! I really do. I never did anything to you to warrant the treatment I've gotten. Now I sit here staring the end right in the face, realizing just how sad it is that some people you see in your own mind—you know it's the last time you'll ever see them again. It's a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that those faces, those memories, are all you have left.

This whole time, I've tried to get people to hate me to make it easier for them, but it's not the way it should be. They don't need to hate me because I hate the world, almost every bit of it. The world, with its endless cruelty and unfairness, has pushed me to this point. I've been through hell and back, and for what? To be left alone with my thoughts, haunted by the ghosts of my past, and tormented by the memories of a future that could have been.

I look back at the people I've met along the way, those who have come and gone, leaving their mark on my life. Some were kind, some were indifferent, and others were outright cruel. But in the end, none of it seems to matter. The world has taken its toll on me, and I've become a shadow of the person I once was.

Don't get me wrong, there are a few people who stand out that I don't hate; they're like diamonds in the rough. They shine brightly in a world filled with darkness and despair. They are the ones who have shown me kindness, even when I didn't deserve it. But their light is not enough to dispel the shadows that surround me. Their presence is a small comfort in a sea of misery.

I wonder if things could have been different if I had made different choices or if the world had been a little kinder. But it's too late for that now. The damage is done, and there's no going back. All I can do is wait for the end and hope that, somehow, in some small way, my suffering will not have been in vain.

It's Time!

Nothing Left To Say! 

I Will Miss Curtis

Curtis had given up on life. He lost the will to live, and the straw that broke the camel's back was Denton County, Texas. They persecuted him without asking a single question, automatically assuming his guilt. He was jailed and fined, paying exorbitant amounts just to stay out of jail. Curtis was more of a modern-day Quaker, firmly against violence. He couldn't even spank his own children when they were growing up. He never raised his hand in anger, except for the occasional school bully during his high school years.

Growing up as a Marine Corps brat, Curtis moved around a lot and encountered his fair share of bullies. It was hard to believe that someone who had been hurt and beaten down so much could still refuse to bring harm to anyone. Curtis's aversion to violence stemmed from deep personal trauma. As a child, he was sexually assaulted. When he tried to do the right thing and went to the police, the man was arrested. However, the judge believed the assailant's seemingly sincere apology and only gave him probation.

While on probation, the man moved on to victimize three other children. This time, the court didn't go easy on him. Each of the kids' cases resulted in a 15-year sentence, to be served consecutively. He had to serve 30 years before being eligible for parole.

So why did Curtis not have a voice? Why is it that when something happened to Curtis, the man only got probation, while everyone else received years on their sentences? Did Curtis not matter? Did his voice not resonate with anybody? 

That event made Curtis wander through life, trying to prove his manhood because he felt like it was stripped from him. And if he wasn't trying to prove his manhood, he was trying to prove his innocence. Either way you look at it, his life at a young age became a roller coaster. It caused him to dislike authority figures. The judicial system let him down. He had noone to count on. He felt like no one was on his side.

Curtis's life was a constant battle, not just with the external world but with his inner demons as well. Despite all the pain and suffering he endured, he never let it turn him into someone who could harm another. His story is one of relentless persecution and unwavering resolve.

As if Curtis's life hadn't been hard enough with his childhood trauma, more pain found him in the military. One evening, while pulling duty, a young soldier approached him, visibly distraught. The soldier's eyes were red, and his shoulders slumped with the weight of his troubles. He had been subjected to relentless hazing by his fellow comrades for falling out of the runs-a cardinal sin in an airborne unit, where physical endurance was paramount. The young soldier's spirit was broken, and he was teetering on the edge of despair.

That night was long, filled with anxious thoughts about how to help the soldier. Curtis was hoping that tomorrow would bring some relief for the young man. But the following morning brought a horror that would be etched into Curtis's memory forever..

As the morning sun began to rise, casting a pale light over the base, Curtis prepared to meet the First Sergeant. Curtis walked  in silence, the weight of the soldier's troubles heavy in the air. Just as he reached the 2nd floor, the young soldier was in the room in front of him. Curtis looked at him, concern etched on his face, but before he could utter a word, the soldier reached for his M16.

Time seemed to slow as Curtis watched in helpless terror. The young man, unable to bear his pain any longer, raised the rifle and ended his suffering right before Curtis's eyes. The sound of the gunshot echoed in the still morning air, a violent punctuation to the soldier's torment.

Curtis was frozen, his mind struggling to process what had just happened. The blood, the lifeless body, the unbearable weight of witnessing such a tragic end-it was all too much. That morning, that singular moment, seared itself into Curtis's mind, becoming a permanent scar on his soul.

The aftermath was a blur of military procedures, questions, and formalities. But for Curtis, the real struggle had just begun. The image of the young soldier's final act haunted him, a relentless specter that would follow him long after his military service ended. It was a wound that would never fully heal.

Curtis went on through life as a product of the pain and suffering he had endured. The military event left a deep scar, but Curtis always gave of himself to ensure no one else struggled or got upset because of him. He'd give his last coins, share his last bit of food, and offer himself time and again, only to have more stripped from him when he wasn't looking. 

He cried out for help in the military but received none. As a kid, his pleas were ignored, and now, dealing with the situation with a girl from Venezuela, his calls for help to numerous cities, police agencies, immigration, and even Homeland Security went unanswered. Why does he not have a voice? Why does he not matter? Why is he society's punching bag?

Now, he's facing charges of stalking, even though his ex-girlfriend's affidavit is filled with lies. Rumors spread that he was a woman beater, and the community he helped and tried to keep safe turned on him. They threatened his life on several occasions and even pulled a weapon on him, yet nothing was done to the woman who did it. She went unpunished, and Curtis lost his home yet again.

Curtis, unable to take it anymore, wandered off into the streets, a heavy weight on his shoulders and a profound emptiness in his heart. He knew he wouldn't return, and deep down, he accepted that his journey was coming to an end. He took enough alcohol with him to ease his nerves for what he intended to do, feeling a twisted sense of relief wash over him.

The streets were eerily quiet as Curtis walked, each step feeling like a final goodbye to a world that had given him more pain than solace. Не found a sec

luded spot, a place where he could be alone with his thoughts one last time. The memories of his struggles played like a haunting film in his mind the cries for help in the military that went unanswered, the childhood pleas that were ignored, and the recent betrayal that had shattered his already fragile spirit.

With a trembling hand, Curtis took out the fentanyl he had carried with him. He had enough to end it all, and the thought brought him a bitter sense of peace. As he prepared for the final act, he took a swig of alcohol, feeling it burn down his throat and momentarily dull his senses. He thought of the community that had turned on him, the lies that had ruined his reputation, and the hopelessness that had engulfed his life.

No one would check on him, he knew that. No one would come to his rescue, just as they hadn't in the past. Curtis closed his eyes, tears streaming down his face as he whispered a silent goodbye to the world that had been so cruel to him. In the quiet of the night, with no one around to witness his final moments, he ended his own pain, his lifeless body a testament to the silent suffering he had endured.

The Will To Survive

Well, journal, I was in court the other day dealing with more of this bullshit with Antonella. That's a story for another time. She's becoming a part of my past, and soon she'll just be somebody I knew instead of someone I know. It's a good thing she's taught me what to avoid in life, what to shield myself and my friends from. She's the epitome of evil and manipulation. 

This week in court, I heard a real survivor's testimony. A woman shared her story before her husband was sentenced for abusing her. My ex tried to paint me as an abuser, but I know now that I'm not. Yes, I got angry and said some hateful things, but it wasn't repetitive. It happened when I was cheated on, when we were supposed to get married and have children. Should I have yelled and screamed like I did? No. But does that make me an abuser? Not at all.

Ironically, this insight came from a shelter where she claimed to be a victim of domestic violence. Now, I go there to learn about what she's done to me and who the real abuser is. It's a shame that when women make accusations, it's often taken as gospel, but when men stand up and say something, no one gives a shit. No one cares about the pain we go throu

gh or the struggle to keep going each day without ending the misery.

If anyone reads this, I hope they find one person who can truthfully say I've been physically abusive. I couldn't even spank my own children, or engage in horseplay during sex as my ex wanted, because of my past trauma. If I can't pretend to be abusive during sex role-playing, why would anyone think I could do it in real life?

I've lost the will to live, and I'm not sure what to do next. Losing the will to live doesn't mean you're suicidal; it just means you don't feel like doing anything to sustain it.

Just because I've lost the will to live does not mean that I want to kill myself or commit suicide, whatever you want to call it. I'm in a place where life's challenges and pain have drained my energy and motivation, making it hard to find joy or purpose. However, this feeling doesn't translate to a desire to end my life. It's more about struggling to find meaning and direction, feeling overwhelmed by the weight of my experiences. I still have hope that things can improve and that I can find a way to cope and thrive despite the difficulties.

I'm just tired of not having a voice. When I was violated as a child, the court didn't listen to me. They let him get away with probation, and then he victimized three other children after me. They got serious punishments for their cases, but not for me. And when I was in the military and saw that young soldier end his life right in front of me, I tried to cry out for help, to tell them I was struggling, that I was dying inside, but no one listened.

Or when some lady came and said that I was the father of her child. I tried to tell them I was not, didn't even know her, but they didn't believe me. They tried to garnish my wages, made me miss work. It turned out this kid was 99.9% not mine. The only thing we had in common was that we were male and human.

And what about all the time with Antonella? I've tried reaching out to various cities and law enforcement agencies, even immigration and Homeland Security. Even with this crap with the girl upstairs accusing me of being a woman beater, threatening my life, and brandishing a weapon, nothing happened to her either. Why? Why don't I deserve to be listened to? What have I done so heinous in life that my voice is muffled or muted? Why does Curtis not matter?

Yet, people will simply call authorities and tell them when I've gotten suicidal, and they send them in for a welfare check to try to lock me up and save me. Why? Why can't you pick up the phone instead of calling the authorities? Call me and tell me how you're doing, ask how I'm doing. It's funny how you can waste the energy calling law enforcement, but you can't spend a fraction of that energy to shoot me a text or call me just to see how I'm doing, say hi, or that you love me.

There's going to come a day when you'll never get a chance to ask how I'm doing or hear my voice, but I really don't think that'll matter if something were to happen to me. I think it would be just a very short amount of time, and I would be a thing of the past. Someone who just didn't matter, who took up oxygen and wasted space that someone else could have used.

Despite all this, I hold on because I believe healing is possible. It's not easy, and it's often painful, but I keep going. Not because I want to, but because I need to. Because deep down, I know my voice does matter, even if it's only to me. And maybe, just maybe, one day it will matter to someone else too.

You need to hate me!

You need to hate me! Hate me like everyone else does. It will help reduce the pain of knowing me, making it easier for you to walk away when the time comes. If you don't hate me now, you will eventually, or at least you'll want to. Building that wall of hate will create a distance that shields you from the hurt. Trust me, it's better this way. You'll find it easier to move on if you see me through the lens of disdain. It will prevent you from getting too close, from caring too much, and from being hurt by my inevitable failures and flaws. I'm not worth the emotional investment, and hating me will save you from future heartbreak.

So, start now. Let the resentment grow. It will be your armor, protecting you from the pain of being connected to someone like me. I am a storm, unpredictable and destructive, and being close to me means you'll get caught in the chaos. The more you care, the more it will hurt when things fall apart. And they will, because I am not capable of maintaining the stability you deserve. 

Every relationship I've had has ended in disappointment and pain. It's a pattern I can't seem to break, and I don't want you to be another casualty of my chaos. If you hate me, you can detach yourself from the emotional wreckage. You won't be weighed down by the expectations and the inevitable letdowns. 

I know it sounds harsh, but it's the truth. Hating me will protect you. It will give you the strength to put up boundaries and not let my darkness seep into your life. You deserve better, and by hating me, you can focus on finding someone who can give you what I cannot. So go ahead, let the hatred build. It will be your shield against the pain of knowing me.

I Rise Anew

After all these years, the hatred rages on,

Anger and rage, a relentless dawn.

The scars run deep, the pain still near,

In the shadows of memories, the ghosts appear.

I've walked through fire, faced many storm,

A heart that's weathered, barely even warm.

The rage within, a roaring sea,

But will learn, you woke the anger in me.

Through every trial, every tear,

I've joined my demons, welcomed fear.

This anger burns, I rise anew,

A testament to the pain you grew.

After all these years, the fight begins,

And with each struggle, anger gains.

For in the hate, I've found my way,

A vengeful spirit, here to stay.

I Turned

I've lived my life with steady hands,

Not one raised in anger's demands.

From school bullies in days gone by,

To all I've met, my peace would tie.

No one here can say they've seen,

My wrath, my fury, or my mean.

But dawn has brought a darker thought,

A hurt so deep, my soul has fought.

For the first time, I feel this fire,

A burning rage, a fierce desire.

To break, to hurt, to see them bleed,

To watch them suffer, meet my need.

Yet in this storm, I seek a way,

To turn the night back into day.

To heal the wounds that pain has borne,

And find my way through anger's thorn.

I'll grasp the tools, the strength to bend,

And on this path, I'll find my end.

For in my heart, I still believe,

That healing comes when we don't grieve.

Though anger knocks, I will transcend,

And choose to heal, my heart to mend.

For though I feel this fire within,

I'll rise above, let peace begin.

Why

Journal Entry

Well, journal, I know what it's like to suffer. I know what it's like to struggle. I know what it's like to do without. I damn sure know what it's like to be alone. I just don't understand why. I've never gone out of my way to take from somebody, and I've never raised a hand in anger to anyone. Yet, I'm cast as this monster. The only difference between me and Frankenstein is I'm not made of different people. I'm me—I'm Curtis. 

And sure, people aren't hunting me down with pitchforks, but I've got neighbors who are scared of me and threatening to shoot me because I'm supposed to be a woman-beater. I just don't know why. There are a lot of things I don't know why about. Why did I have to be violated as a child? Why did I have to be made to believe I was a bad kid growing up? Why did that young soldier have to end his life in front of me or anyone else? Why am I plagued with thoughts of self-harm? 

There are so many questions I have that go unanswered. I see people running around enjoying life when all I want to do is get rid of mine. Why can't I get a do-over? Why can't I go more than 24 hours without shedding tears?

I've gone 53 years of my life, and the other day, for the first time, I woke up wanting to hurt somebody. Not just break their heart, but break their bones, break their skin, completely break them to make them feel the pain I've gone through. I've lost it all again. I lost my home. I struggled at first being there alone, but I was getting over it. 

And then a woman I loved with every fiber of my being had to ruin it all with lies. The only way I would have hurt her was by smothering her with love. She knows I wouldn't hurt her. She asked me to be rough in the bedroom, and I couldn't do it, so why would I do it just for the hell of it?

Understanding the Misjudgment of Those Who Avoid Physical Violence

There are individuals who have never raised their hands in anger towards anyone. Yes, they may appear angry or scary, but this is often a tactic to keep others at a distance, to avoid conflict. We don't want to engage in physical altercations or ugliness. Yet, despite this, we can still be blamed for fitting someone else's narrative, without consideration for the ripple effects that can cause us immense pain.

Before meeting Antonella, I was battling addiction, homelessness, depression, and suicidal thoughts. She presented herself as my partner, my ride-or-die. But the truth was she was manipulating the system for her gain, whether it was citizenship, shelter, or something else. Yes, I yelled, I screamed, and I cussed, but we were supposed to get married and have children. Instead, she cheated on me with a co-worker, spilling details about me and my struggles to him.

If anyone else had faced the same provocations, especially some people I know, they might have responded violently. But I didn't. I turned my frustration inward. All I did was yell and scream. In response, Antonella started driving erratically, endangering both our lives and the lives of others on the road. To try and calm the situation, I took her wallet and phone, knowing their importance to her, hoping she would drive more safely. She saw this as an opportunity to accuse me of domestic violence.

She tried to press charges in multiple counties and cities, but it wasn’t until a female detective got involved that anything stuck. It took five or six death threats before I forwarded one to her, asking if this was what her family was capable of. That was the basis for the indictment against me. Rumors spread that I was a woman-beater, a stalker, a freak. My community turned against me. Women became scared.

Just recently, during an intimate moment with a new partner, the woman upstairs, already paranoid due to the rumors, called the police, thinking I was harming someone. My partner had to explain it was her cries of pleasure, not pain. Yet, I was still targeted, receiving multiple death threats and racial slurs, with no intervention from authorities.

Now, I understand. The world has no use for me, and I have no use for it. If being a part of it means becoming ugly like the world itself, I want no part of it. I've begun planning my own end, to stop the pain and suffering. I'm just waiting for the right time, putting everything in order. This filthy, nasty world can have itself because I know I don't have a voice. No one listens, no one cares, and they never will.

Oh Ashley!

Oh Ashley, once I thought you the dream,  

A beacon of desire with integrity gleamed.  

You spoke of children, of desire so deep,  

A promise of forever, of secrets to keep.

Yet as days unfurled, the truth was revealed,  

Your ruse a shadow, your heart concealed.  

I ignored the whispers, brushed off the disdain,  

Believing your lies, though their truth was plain.

Listening to you, I shunned the wise,  

Good souls you twisted, masked by your guise.  

Innocent hearts turned hard and cold,  

By actions of yours, so cruel and bold.

Nastiest and meanest, your true colors show,  

A master of deceit, in darkness you grow.  

No longer the dream, but a nightmare profound,  

A friend turned stranger, lost and unfound.

The Shock

It was a day that's etched in my memory like a tattoo, one where I witnessed a gut-wrenching tragedy unfold before my eyes. I never saw it coming, never anticipated the heaviness that would settle in my chest.

There was this young soldier, frustration oozing from every pore, coming to me with his struggles. He couldn't keep up with the runs, a crucial requirement in our airborne unit. Falling behind during PT was not just a matter of fitness; it was a point of pride and a test of one's dedication to the unit. Yet, instead of support, he faced ridicule, teasing, and outright bullying from his peers. It was relentless, a barrage of taunts and jibes that chipped away at his confidence with each passing day. Despite his efforts to push through, the weight of their scorn was crushing, threatening to extinguish his spirit altogether.

I tried to be tough, gave him the whole "put on your big boy pants" spiel, even though I could see the tears welling up. Promised him we'd sort it out with the first sergeant the next day, sent him off to get ready for what lay ahead.

As I entered the dimly lit stairwell on the second floor, the door to the stairwell was adjacent to his room, its door wide open. There, in my line of sight, sat the young soldier, his figure illuminated by the soft glow from within his room. It was as if fate had led me there, to witness the unfolding tragedy in real-time. The proximity struck me; I could almost feel the weight of his anguish permeating the air, a silent plea for someone to intervene before it was too late.

The bang reverberated, shaking me to my core. The heavy air suffocated me, and silence became deafening, shrouding the lifeless figure on the floor. The walls bore witness to the despair that had unfolded, a sight that seared into my soul.

The room stood frozen in time, yet the shockwaves of the tragedy still pulsed through the air. Tears streamed down my face as I grappled with the helplessness of the moment. Time seemed to halt, trapping me in a nightmare.

I couldn't wrap my head around the pain that led to this moment. It haunted me, left me questioning every decision. If only I had listened, if only I had shown more compassion. The guilt weighed heavy on my shoulders.

But amidst the grief and guilt, there was a lesson. It taught me the importance of reaching out to those battling their demons, of being a beacon of light in their darkest hours. It reminded me of the fragility of life and the ripple effect of one person's pain.

Moving forward, I carry the hope that sharing my experience can raise awareness about mental health and the need for compassion. We must be there for each other, guiding through the stormy seas, ensuring that no one feels as alone as I did on that fateful day.

The aftermath of that tragic day left scars that still haunt me, exacerbating my PTSD and amplifying my struggles to this very day. It's a burden I carry, a weight that never seems to lift. The memories, like ghosts, linger in the recesses of my mind, resurfacing in unexpected moments, triggering waves of anguish and despair. Sleepless nights are a constant companion, haunted by night terrors so vivid they feel like a cruel form of reality. There are times I wake up and can still smell and taste everything that took place that day, as if I'm reliving it all over again.

But perhaps the most harrowing aspect of it all is the relentless echo of the gunshot, reverberating in my ears as if time has looped back to that moment of horror. Loud noises and sudden movements have become triggers, capable of shattering the fragile facade of composure I struggle to maintain. They break me down, reducing me to a trembling mess, grappling with the suffocating grip of panic and fear.

Yet, amidst the darkness, there's a flicker of hope—a glimmer of resilience that refuses to be extinguished. Each day is a battle, fought with grit and determination, as I strive to reclaim a sense of peace and stability in the face of adversity. And though the road ahead may be fraught with challenges, I refuse to let the shadows of the past define my future.

In the wake of my trauma, I've made a solemn commitment to myself: I cannot, and will not, be the cause of stress or grief for anyone else. If there's something I possess that someone desires, let them have it. Whether it's my food, my shirt, or even my time, I'll relinquish it without hesitation, even if they're not the best company to be around. It's a puzzling aspect of my existence—I find it nearly impossible to say no. Even when faced with individuals I know will exploit or take advantage of me, I struggle to stand my ground. What if refusing pushes them further down a dark path? What if my actions are the tipping point in their decision-making process?

In a way, I see myself mirrored in that soldier, caught in a moment of despair and darkness. And just as I couldn't bear to see him suffer alone, I find myself unable to turn away from those who seek solace, even at my own expense. It's a tangled web of empathy and self-preservation, a constant tug-of-war between my instincts and my sense of duty to others. Yet, despite the overwhelming weight of my own trauma, I refuse to let it define me. I am more than the sum of my scars, more than the echoes of that fateful day. And though the journey ahead may be fraught with challenges, I'll face it head-on, armed with resilience, compassion, and an unwavering determination to overcome.