Find
Hope
When I was about twelve or thirteen years old I heard my grandfather say, “The only good white man is a dead one.”
It became a vicious cycle of doing cocaine to stay up all day sot I could work and then doing heroin to sleep late at night.
"I really wanted to call him and say, “I’m sorry for what I had done.” Months earlier if you’d asked me I wouldn’t have admitted to have done anything wrong."
"I was mad at my dad for destroying my family. He had taught me homosexual behavior was a sin. He had instilled in me that homosexuality was wrong, and suddenly he was trying to get me to justify it."
They took me to the dessert out in Tucson, AZ and tried to make me dig a hole. They were going to bury me in the hole. So I told them; “Kill me and dig it yourself.”
In the third grade I didn’t know how to spell tadpole. For every letter I missed my dad would whip me across my back with a leather belt until I would bleed.
As the dreams continued I began to focus on the issue of forgiveness concerning my dad.
People disappear all the time and nobody would have ever known what happened to them. It was my intent to kill them for what they had done to me.
It was just terrible. So I’m taking the medicine and I am correctly diagnosed but I’m still not really feeling any better. I’m not free from this bipolar.