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[Nospherat]

I decided to write this after I saw a second or third "I hate this life, I can't take it anymore"
Before you get into any ideas, I do not wish to mock those people. I do not wish to prove that "I'm better" or that "I had it worse than you"
I just want to say: I was there, I hit rock bottom. Somehow, amazingly, I managed to pull through. If my story brings you at least 0.1% hope and 0.1% comfort, then I have accomplished my mission.

Childhood
-Sheltered, pampered by over-protective mother? Check.
-Average, middle-class family, average home in average town? Check.

Let's cut this story short. I hated school. I still laugh when I think of the moment when my cousin described school to me.
What do you mean I have to go there every day? For a year? No, absurd, preposterous!
Wait, for a year every year, for many many years?!?! Nonsense. I won't do it! I'll go against my parents, I'll run away from home if I have to!"

I did not, but I still hated every single day of school, for the rest of my life.
But don't get me wrong, I'm not a moron. I managed somehow to learn how to read, on my own, at the age of four.
I'm not a child prodigy either. I'm incredibly dyslexic to the point of repeatedly failing basic algebra/arithmetic.
I chose books, stories and imaginary worlds instead of real friends. Needless to say I become a bit of a recluse. I wasn't old enough to know the error of my ways.
My mother was delighted that I was turning into a bookworm. Her dominant presence was already dreaming of me, winning international prizes for having an overly large head filled with all kind of academic nonsense. 
My father, God keep him healthy was too submissive by that point, to even try.

Adolescence
My mother, my God.
She used to throw screaming fits of fury when I returned home with anything less than straight A's (or 10's in the European system)
I used to do forced homework way, way past midnight, being constantly reminded to sit straight on the chair, not lose focus, not slouch, not chew my pencil, not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not notnot not not not not...
She poked me in the ribs with a sharp carpenter's adze when I got sleepy, or I lost focus. I wasn't allowed to go to sleep until flawlessly finishing my homework.
She reminded me to keep my feet level and straighten my back whenever we were walking on the street.
She did get into a frenzy every time I got a minor cold and pump me with strong antibiotics.
She could not accept the fact that I was anything less than perfect.
As such she strongly denied that I was being bullied at school (I was a liar). She denied the fact that I had a sight problem (I was too lazy to write down the things on the blackboard). She denied that I had a serious problem with numbers (I was too lazy to pay attention)

What I remember the most, when it comes to my mother....
The 4-hour long speeches that I got at every mistake. She went to great lengths to describe how I will fail at life. How I will never get a proper job, how I will be lost as soon as she dies. And she will die fast, as I am virtually bringing her one step closer to the grave each and every day. I will fail to wash and feed myself without her. "The worms will eat your flesh into your own bed" was how she ended her speech.
And then invariably she would add "I gave birth to you, I will kill you with my own hands"
I also remember "I'm slaving until my flesh falls from my bones, for you... men... pigs, you and your father! I'm starving so you can eat!"

My father, God help him, and keep him sane, is an angel. My hero. He's clean, quiet and he has retreated into his own world, long time ago.

That was home.
School wasn't any better. I was constantly being bullied for being a wimpy nerd. I did not have any friends, not even one. I did have my books, and the stories that I made in my head.
I was between a rock and a hard place (Or rather between the anvil and the hammer, as we have a saying in here.)

Lost
Of course that by the time I reached the age of 14 I still had no friends, I greatly feared my mother and I got the idea that I'm worthless and that maggots will eat me someday.
I had no self-esteem. My life consisted of going to a place I hated (school), studying hard, in fear of my mother, dodging ravenous bullies, being beaten, being abused, having my items taken from me, then going straight home, and fast. And then, my mother. The first hours of the day I was pumped with great food and sweets until I puked, I got new (and terribly expensive, as my mother constantly reminded me) toys that I had never asked for (and strangely I never never got the toys I did ask for. Like a slinky. A cheap, plastic colorful slinky. Oh, how i begged), I was allowed to watch TV, play games, I was pampered as some sort of "redemption" for what was to follow.
And then... from 4 PM to late into the night ... homework.
I still hate bright light, we had this overly powerful lamp that used to cook my brains, I had to use that as to "not ruin my eye sight".

So. I was 14 and terribly confused.
I started sitting in the dark for hours, pretending I was asleep, just so I could be alone.
I obsessed on death and suicide (I was worthless, I was never going to accomplish anything in my life, worms would eat me in my bed). I never attempted suicide, not because I lacked courage, but because I was constantly thinking and improving my plan, of the "perfect" way to go.
I rarely left home, I had zero friends. My rare moments of joy, were the moments I got to spend with my father and grandfather fixing things, working with tools and powertools and listening to their stories....

Awakening
I think I was 15 years old when I slowly started understanding all the lessons and wise words my Hero Father and my Superhero Grandfather were telling me when my mother wasn't around.
I did something retarded. I was supposed to go on a camping trip with my class. My mother was not feeling well, otherwise she would have accompanied me. (Oh yes, I was 15 and she still insisted on going with me on trips, least I will fail to feed myself for two days. And you can imagine the ridicule that followed. I avoided camping trips, or any kind of museum visits and such. Anyways...)

I was alone for the first time in my life. As soon as we hit camp, our supervisors got drunk, and everyone started going wild. Absolutely everyone, students and supervisors alike was either drunk, stoned, or having sex.
Something broke inside me. I packed my bags, my tent and I left.
I spent my first night away from my apartment, alone, in a scary forest in bear county, just me and my tent.
I thought, This is it. I die here. It's the end, I'm free
I got drunk, I opened a meat can, spread it around my tent, and collapsed. I knew a bear, or a wolf would eat me. There we go, my perfect and poetic way to go!

When I woke up, the sun was up and I was pretty much in one piece.
I crawled out of my tent.
I crushed wild mint with my knees. Dew was shining in the grass, birds were singing, a squirrel was chattering in a tree, just one meter away from me. There was sun, warmth, soft grass and peace everywhere.
I fell to the ground and cried for an hour.

I spent the next day in front of my tent, eating biscuits and canned meat, and watching grasshoppers buzz/sing. Silent, without a thought in my mind. I spent the whole night watching the perfect sky with countless stars. It was only then, after 15 years of my life that I realized I had never seen so many stars. I had lived all my life inside, or briefly outside, in an overly-polluted city with a thick smog cloak.

I got hungry. I had eaten all my food. For a brief moment I thought of going back to camp, but I was resolved on surviving what was left of my 14 days camping trip, on my own. Or die trying. Maggots eating my worthless body, just like my mother always said.

I realized that all those long hours of reading every book I could, were going to help. I noticed that I recognized two types of mushrooms, I even knew their names Lactarius Piperatus and Boletus Edulis. I fried them. I apologize to the forest rangers. I used a "don't start fires in the forest" metal sign as my stove. 
I made a spear from my fork, a shoelace and a stick, and by stabbing under the rocks in the river I managed to catch trout!
I used the wild mint and thyme to brew tea.
I made fire every night, first by rubbing two dry twigs for what seemed like hours. Then, I learned to cover the burning embers with a layer of dry soot, to keep them burning until the next day.
I saw a mountain goat. I pretended to eat grass, and the curious creature got closer and closer. I was mesmerized, It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. It eventually got bored with me and ran away, but I was smiling for the rest of the day.
I saw a bear. Luckily he was across a deep and wide chasm, and the wind was blowing towards me. I bowed in respect, and said "let me sleep tonight, brother".
I saw a viper and I steered clear. That night I was scared, I double-checked my tent's zipper and my sleeping bag.
I snapped the tip of my knife, and I re-sharpened it using sandstone.
I climbed trees and robbed nests for small eggs, scratching myself raw in the process.
My city-boots, unfit for such conditions broke. I melted fir-tree resin over the fire, mixed it with soot and used it as a glue to patch my shoes, with a little help from some pieces of cloth, ripped from a t-shirt. I managed to burn my fingers in the process, and I got two painful blisters. I used sap from Calendula Officinalis flowers to keep them from getting infected.
I dammed the river, got a deep pool of stagnant water into a sunny area, and I bathed for hours.
And last but not least, I ran around in my meadow, wearing absolutely nothing.

At the end of my 10 days, I was hungry, and a bit weak, but mostly, I felt sad to be going back.
I figured out that probably police was already looking for me and my mother will most certainly kill me. But I did not care.
I returned to the camp. No one had noticed my absence. Thank goodness for third-world country irresponsible teachers!
Everyone was just as drunk and high as before.
I returned home.

Turning the tide
I was another man. Yes, I could call myself a man now.
I became cunning. I said "Yes mother, certainly, right now, of course, whatever you wish" a lot. And I mean A LOT
She was so happy with it that rarely bothered to check on me. And obviously, whenever I could, I did things my way.
I learned to love life. I spent more time with my Heroes. I became interested in survival, in the great outdoors, I read more and more about it.

Of course, things were not perfect. I still had to please my mother.
My body was weak, incessant reading won't grow muscles on you.
My bones and my teeth were frail, I had always been lactose intolerant, and I never assimilated calcium properly.
I was hunchbacked from all that reading and nearsighted. I had to almost get killed by a car, for my mother to acknowledge that I may have a problem with my eyes.
As always, she screamed at me for hours at an end for "not telling her". I used to complain about it every day. But ... I decided not to argue. "Sorry mother, it won't happen again"

So, I did not have a strong foundation, but damn, I was going to make the best of it.

I noted the things that I could not do. Math, numbers, calculus. Charisma, perfect body posture, beauty, muscular frame, raw strength.
I focused on the rest. My mind, my ability with foreign languages, my computer skills, my tinkering skills... I perfected those. I learned as much as I could from my Heroes. I went on more and more trips. I weaved a web of lies. My mother was home, thinking I'm with my class on a field trip.
I was alone in the wilderness, and loving every second.

At about the age of 18 I discovered that I was too absorbed in pleasing my mother and hiding my new occupations from her that I had ignored one tiny, little insignificant aspect...

My sexuality and Walking into adulthood
When I was 16, I got my first part-time job. My grandfather pressured me into getting a job. He had always worked into a factory, and he managed to get me into the worst, dirtiest, most horrible job he could find.
I hated him for that, I could not understand. But, he also managed to convince mother to let me keep the money I was making. He got hell for that, every single day of his life, until he died, but I did keep my cash, and I used it to get "Motherly-Unapproved" clothing that would allow me to go outside and blend in with the rest of teenagers.
I learned how to get out more. Lucky for me, my work mates were roughly my age. Brutes, drunkards, foul mouthed beasts, nowhere near my level, yet... friendly. Simple, friendly, happy, factory workers, that did not give a flying crud that I was a geek. I slaved into the same oily residue as them.
So, they dragged me out into a few horrendous bars.
I still remember this one...

It was called "the dirty indian". There was mud, beer and vomit on the ground. The tables were made out of stolen road signs, welded on metal poles stuck into the floor. The chairs were broken. The roof was made out of reeds and hay. There was a grime-encrusted stereo whining the worst music possible. There was no kitchen, One half-naked, fat, hairy man was frying questionable meat, on a grill, just outside this room. The sweat was pouring on him as he was singing and blowing into the flames. The waitress could have been pretty but she was fat, dirty, unkempt and as foul-mouthed as my companions. They pinched her generous ass when she passed our table and she was giggling.
The beer mugs were chipped. Then, thousands of drinking mouths smoothed the sharp glass edges, and they got chipped and smoothed over and over again. 
We drank foul home-made booze made of twigs, yellow like piss, and it was so bad, that the elders poured cigarette ashes into it to improve the taste!
I got roaring drunk for my first time, and I puked and puked my guts out. My mates laughed hard, but they helped me puke.
It was the first time in my life someone actually helped me do something.
These simple guys whom I have known for less than a month... they accepted me among them. And.. helped me. I was a part of a group for the first time.
Sure. Not the best group to be a part of, but... man!

I eventually changed that job. I still miss those guys, and I remember them, and their names, as opposed to all those... faded faces in school and highschool.
When I got my second job, my Grandfather asked me "so... how was the first day?"
It was amazing. Darn it, of course it was amazing compared to wallowing in residue from the oil pumps! Anything was amazing compared with that!
And then... I understood. And I stopped hating my grandfather. All my other jobs after that were amazing. And I could have the exquisite privilege of going to work with a smile, for the rest of my life!
He was smiling, warm, like a saint, like he always was. He hugged me and told me he was proud.

Now that I no longer smelled like train oil, I could go to fancier clubs, and meet other people...
And so I did. I was stepping out of my mother's shadow more and more each day. Her influence lessened. 

Obviously, things are never as easy as they seem.



I hope you don't feel that I have wasted your time so far.
Please tell me if I should go on.

[DarkWolfXV]

Made me happy inside, that im not alone, i still havent reached most of points, but this is great thing to read, that you are not alone. Thank you. Go on.

[jrmy]

I liked reading that! I am a bit of a sucker for reading about other people's lives, to be honest. :v

[Nospherat]

Continued: My sexuality and Walking into adulthood
Obviously, Mother did notice something was a bit off. And she did not like losing control.
But this time I was prepared.

Interlude: The games we play
Me and Mother had this little game we used to play, every now and then.
This one time, I was in first grade, I came home, did not fold my shirt, and did not put my school jacket and pants on a coathanger. Also, I seem to have trailed mud inside the home, though I really did not notice it.

She came home and literally exploded. She told me "that's it, I'm kicking you out of the house"
She was hysterical and managed to convince me that she wasn't joking. I remember I was utterly terrified. She made me pack my bags. I had this little brown plastic lunchbox (that looked like crocodile skin), and I remember I stuffed inside a few toys that seemed expensive, hoping with my childhood innocence that I could trade them for bread. She kept screaming at me and verbally pushing me towards the door (she rarely got to hit me, though sometimes I wished for a brief good beating, and be over with). I grabbed my sky-blue winter jacket, thinking that I'll need it at night... and almost walked through that door.
She stopped me. And silly me, I was thankful for it.
We played this game a few times, every now and then.

Back to: My sexuality and Walking into adulthood
I was 16-17 when I had a full-time job, school and this little "gig" with a few friends, refurbishing and selling second-hand computers.
By that time, I learned to bribe and "play" my teachers, thus even tho I was mostly at work, my grades did not suffer. And good grades kept Mother Happy. I spent less and less time at home. Sometime, going home only once every 4-5 days.Eventually, she exploded again. We exchanged words, tempers flared.
It was time to drop the hammer.

It was near the end of the first highschool year, and I dropped school. I hated that highschool anyway, it was the one she chose, and it had no real perspectives. It was a pure "theoretical" highschool with no technical branch attached. I felt I was cheated out of learning a trade.

She went crazy.
We went through the whole "pack your bags" routine and she made it extra painful this time. I reached the door, and I opened it.
She told me to get back to the house immediately. I gave her the finger and walked out.

I was planning for this for a long time. My bags were packed, holding essential survival tools and supplies. I had gathered a bit of cash. I hit the road and didn't look back. I hiked through the country, on foot, or with the help of truck drivers for about a month. I took a well deserved break. I lost my job, but it was worth it.
I returned to my "gig" and kept a low profile for a couple more weeks. Then I met my father. He looked old, sad, and worried. I returned home for his sake.
My mother was in denial. To this day, she still refuses to admit I was missing for about two months. My father won't talk about it, I bet he went through hell while I was gone. I almost cried when I realized that.
My grandfather was awaiting for me, with a saintly warm smile. He embraced me and said nothing.

It was a lesson I had learned from him.
-Teach through the power of the comparison...
-But grandpa, I don't understand...
-When I was in the second world war, the sarge told us to cross a frozen river. We refused, until he got hold of the heavy machine gun and started firing at our feet. Suddenly the frozen river rapids, seemed inviting...

My mother stopped bothering me.
I got into the highschool I wanted, learned how to work as an electrician, got a job as one, and I still had my "computers gig".
I considered moving away, but the greed got the best of me. I had won the war with my mother, and I spent most of my days and nights either at work, or at my "gig". I was barely at home so I thought "I'm good"

My father got a few good an quiet years, and for once, I got to teach him something. He was spending more time at work too.
My mother had to focus her "attention" on someone though, and that someone was my poor grandfather. He was a pensioneer, thus always at home.
She bickered him into the grave. And I will never shake that guilt. It was my fault.

I find out exactly what do I want from life. And I'm wrong.

Four years of highschool and four years of technical school. That's how long it lasted.
Our "computer gig"  was hardly a successful business. We were just teenagers patching computers for spare cash.
One day, a rich entrepreneur stepped in and "bought us". I was 17, and most of my friends were between 13 and 18. He charmed us right away. He rented a gigantic basement in an old building, bought us tools, brand new servers, a pool table, comfy furniture, an inflatable pool, and tons of other things.
We had nothing less than an underground empire.
We also branched our "affairs". Hosting porn, liberating software, bringing sex-toys into a post-communist country (sex shops were not exactly banned, but they weren't common either). Most of our deeds were fully legal, save a few minor slip-ups. Back then, nobody had internet access, and software laws were all but inexistent.
We kept pumping out second-hand computers, but this time we were working with adult videochat enterprises, a fast growing trade, and selling 50 computers every day.
We weren't shy of fixing microwave ovens, printers or hair driers either. Anything was game for us, and I had more money than I could count.

But our boss, "Papa" was a brilliant man. He had turned us into grateful fanatics. Anything we wanted, he provided, and then some.
At first, he gave us purpose, he made us a tight-knit group, All of us were outcasts, and as such, that feeling of "belonging" was everything we wanted. We had "ceremonies" for newcomers that included drawing blood, candles, and mumbo-jumbo meant to inflame the instable psyche and imagination  of nerdy, social misfit geeks. And it did.
We were more than a bunch of technicians in a basement. We were a ... coven. A coterie.
At first we asked for board games, booze, comfy beds, large screen TVs, archery targets and a compound bow...
I don't know when someone asked "Papa", I'm having trouble with a bully, can you fix that?
And he did. I have no idea how. The next day, the bully was all humble and quiet.
From that point on, we got bolder. We asked for shooting lessons, and he took us to the firing range. We asked for lockpicking or pickpocketing lessons, and he brought guys to teach us.
We learned anatomy, pressure points, dirty defensive techniques that do not require strength, we learned how to charm people, small basic scams, how to diet, how to overcome pain, how to control our minds, self-motivate and get over depression, and eventually, yes, how to get women.
Only one thing was forbidden.
-Take drugs or disobey me, and they'll never find your body...
-Yes Papa!

I had everything. Money, friends, girlfriends. We weren't allowed to flaunt it. We had to keep a low profile, no one knew what I was doing...And If anyone asked ... I was over at an aunt's house. That was the "codename".
It would take me a few more years to realize that I had nothing.

Back to  square one...

I was getting restless. Maybe because I had everything but warmth. Sure, sex was always available, we just had to ask. We were working with adult chatrooms, providing hardware, toys and hosting, remember?
But something was missing.

I had my fair share of relationships, but most of them were with "hopeless" girls. As I've said, we learned a few tricks into "getting women". Sadly, there are no magic tricks that will get you in bed with a perfect woman.
All these tricks were - I now realize and regret - ways of preying on minds as broken as ours, outcasts, misfits. Playing with their insecurities, and getting them "addicted" to our presence.
And as a result, all these relationships were the stuff nightmares are made of. One dominant broken, faulty mind, tied to one submissive defective soul.
We didn't see that, back then. We reveled in our power, cheap, hateful, disgusting and manipulative assholes.
So I had to change that. I spent every free minute traveling the country, desperate to find a soulmate, but find it without using our methods.
And find it I did. The months we spent together I shall remember forever. Every breath we took, every word we said, It is engraved into my memory.
This was no "first love" infatuation. I was beyond that point when we met.
We had to end it though. Why end tumultous, blazing perfection?
Because the world is filled with blind, intolerant people. And same sex relationships are not understood in here. I won't say any more.

Back into the mud...
At the same time, I had problems with one of my other relationships, one of those broken souls, a bubbling cauldron of lunacy that I had unwittingly tied to me, was awakening to reason. Her father was an influential man, and there was potential trouble brewing.
But this was nothing compared with the death of a Superhero.
After all these years, my Grandfather had died. The day before he had a serious fight with my Mother. He wanted to save part of his retirement funds, for me. My mother disagreed and took all his money.
In the morning, he was vomiting blood. They took him to the hospital. In his last moments he wrestled with six nurses, as they tried to tie him to the bed, and he was screaming my name.
He was a Titan. A gentle giant, over two meters tall, lean and muscular despite his 98 years of life. Survived two word wars, survived the Communist Party persecution, he raised me from birth, wiped my ass, lulled me to sleep, fed me, and gave me wisdom, until the first year of school, when Mother took over..
Now, he was lying there, cold, with his mouth still open, silently screaming for me, his massive body too tall for the hospital table, and still bound to it.

I shrieked and tried to untie him, but my hands did not listen to me. I could not see. I could not cry. My eyes were dry, my soul was empty. I had always thought, for real, that the man was immortal.
My mother proved me wrong. 
The worst thing is... I never quite got to say how much I loved him.

He wanted to be cremated. He was a strong atheist, "Me and God... we don't get along well" he used to say. He did not want "some dark robed bearded wizard to wave his hands above me, and smoke me with his incense, and light candles".

He got buried "properly" at my Mother's wish. He got buried in the same grave as my Grandmother, and he hated that woman.
In there, in the church, when I kissed his forehead, I found my tears. The priests were babbling, singing, incense was in the air. "Grandfather, grandfather, I hope you can't see this... you'd die all over again"

And I was down in the mud again...



to be continued...

[Nivim]

 This reminds me of just how much I've forgotten.

[BackgroundGuy]

This is impressive.  It reads like something out of a story.

[Zrk2]

... I really have nothing to say. Please continue.

[Caz]

Wow. It now feels like I've done nothing with my life. Ever thought about writing an autobiography?

[Nospherat]

The death of me...

I no longer cared.
I returned to that poor, broken being I had tied to myself. I threw a blanket of blindness over her attempts to wake up. Her biggest problem was... not being able to gather the mental strength needed to pass an interview, to acquire a normal job. As such, in order to impress her powerful and influential father, I did something not even he managed to accomplish. I got her a good job.
I was moving fast towards an arranged marriage, and my entrance into one of the most important families into the town.
Alas, I felt nothing about it.

I returned to my "gig". Business had turned sour. Times had changed, more and more people had internet access, and our liberated software was worth nothing. Computers were cheaper now, almost nobody wanted second-hand dust factories.
We had moved on.
We still delivered CDs. But I noticed that this time, they have been stuffed with small packets of... let's say "condiments".
Each and everyone of us, now had a broken soul tied to him, but after looking closely, you noticed that each and every one of those empty shadows was part of a rich or famous family.
Ah, and my brothers. There was less and less playtime, and more cash hoarding. Sick eyes, with red spiderwebs, sunken deep in their heads. Feverish trembling hands working for endless hours, raking in as many coins as possible.
I barely noticed.
I stopped playing Airsoft. I stopped hiking through the wilderness. I volunteered for field work. I spent my days trudging through the city, with a bag filled to the brim with CDs, doing personal deliveries. Either barbecue condiments, or rather just movie CDs. I briefly heard that some other boys, in some other basement were making... "less-than-common" movies. I did not feel anything towards that.
I was a gray-faced man with a big bag, walking from dawn 'till dusk through a stinking city. Swimming all day in torrents of unwashed, sweaty people, the sun cooking my brain and cracking my skin.
All on foot.
See, I told you, "Papa" was a brilliant man. Driving a car could have prompted the big bad blue men to stop us, for say, going faster than the speed of light. And they could have found the condiments. And we could not allow that. I delivered my CDs to other ghosts. Ragged clothes, white faces, dark rings around the eyes. Mashed forearms with blood-specked sleeves shoving dirty, crumpled, banknotes in my pockets.
I was a stone.

Waking up

All of us, the brothers, were monitoring the chat rooms. To waste time, to stop thinking. But mostly to scout potential new souls. Those rooms are filled with angst and mangled minds, so easy to handle and shape into useful forms.
And I met her.
Oh, how I wish I could say "it was romantic, it was love at first chat, it was puppy dogs and pink clouds". Well, it wasn't. I just wanted to waste her time and maybe walk away with some of her money.

Then, we met face-to-face, we had coffee together. She was wearing a "Cartoon Network" Tom&Jerry t-shirt, despite being a mature woman. She was going to arts school. She was a blinding ray of sun and happiness. A waterfall of smiles and jokes. Also, she had absolutely nothing of financial value. She was living in a small cramped dorm room of the Art, Movie and Theater College.

She.... had nothing, yet she had everything.
I had everything... yet I had nothing.

We talked until the break of dawn. I was dizzy and I could feel the fog slowly lifting off my eyes. I went to my cover-up work, then back to my "gig". It was like I could see, for the first time in my life.

Time to move on
I had to leave my "family". I had to leave "my aunt's house".
Of course, it wasn't that easy. I talked with "Papa" for days. He respected me, by that time, I was the oldest in the house, the best courier, the best tech. I think he intended to hand over the reins to me, at some point.
Remember, I told you we had a sort of ceremonial welcome for newcomers? We had to stage the opposite of that. Something to make a strong impression on the minds of the Brothers, to bind them together, and to make them think twice before leaving.
We did that, and I'd rather forget the details. "Papa" was the best psychiatrist I had ever seen, and all that without reading a single book, or taking a single class.
He just knew the human mind.

After two weeks I returned to her. I was gone missing, out-of-touch. I took a huge great risk, but she allowed me back into her life, without too many questions.

Tying loose ends.
I spoke with my mother. After all these years of me listening to endless sermons, I finally found her calm enough to really talk, in the true meaning of the word.
-Mother, why did you always say that nothing good was going to become of me?
-I just wanted you to be successful in life!
-But why like that? Why with all those "worms eating me"? Why did you repeat over and over again that I'll fail at everything?
-I just wanted to motivate you to do something with your life! I just wanted the best for you!

I had to end this talk. As always, she was blanking out what she did not want to see. She was blind to the inputs from the outside world, she was... a stone... pretty much like I was when...
No!
Enough of this! I went back to my life.

I managed to gather enough strength and went to my grandfather's grave. For the third time in my life, I found my tears. I was hoping I could say ... things, about love, about gratitude, about loss and sorrow. But I was silent again. I did not have the words. I just cried, and I felt him smiling, warmly. Like a saint.


Goodbyes
I married the woman of my life. Yes, eventually I married her. We're fine. We moved out, we have rented a small home. We both play airsoft, go hiking or geocaching. We have throngs of friends, we go out to the theater, to the movies, we play tabletop games (Arkham Horror is great!)

I still call or visit my Mother from time to to time. My father is the new target of her antics, and he's getting old, tired. Every time I see him, my hero, the silver-tongue rogue, the charming swashbuckler is getting smaller and and quieter.
I wish I could do something, help him somehow, yet I cannot think of anything.

My wife... Is happy. For now. We have two cats, yet she wants to have kids before it's too late, we're both getting old. And I cannot tell her about the crippling, mind-numbing horror inside me. The thought that when I'll see that child, a switch inside me will flip, a hidden subroutine, a hereditary-transmitted script in my programming will trigger, and suddenly, I'll only want the best for my child.

[K41N]

I really enjoyed reading your story! It even made me realise two things. The first is, that it would have been cool, if i had a father. :-/
The second is, that I'd like to meet someone like "Papa". I think the skills he taught you are really useful.
Anyway I want to thank you for that quite entertaining story by giving out an advice: Talk to your girl about your fear of "only wanting the best for your child". I think she could understand it, women can be really good at helping you with emotional problems. Maybe you can even overcome your fear, together with her, at some point.

[freeformschooler]

That was really quite amazing! You have done far more in your life than I ever had. Only thing is, whenever the subject of your mom was brought up, I couldn't stop thinking:

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

[eerr]

You really should write a book!

Now, as to your children.

Does the idea of your children excelling in life require you to drive them fruitlessly hard every day, all day, in order to satisfy yourself?

I think you might find yourself hard pressed to contain a fraction of your mom.

[Rooster]

Damn. I can't really explain it, but I love you man. I have written "I'm sick of this life" thread myself.
And as sick and disturbed as it is, I can see myself in you (isn't that always with depressed people?),
and I hope I really hope that my life will turn out as OK (because calling that good, is at least a misinterpretation) as yours.