The photo I should have taken mocks me in my rear-view mirror
Like decisions I should of made, but put off
For when the moment was more right, when I was more ready
This is why I never grow

I miss how the boys used to look at me
The slightly older gay boys
The free cups of coffee my looks got me
The free coffee that my girlfriend got because she was with me

I miss the threats to get me drunk and suck me off
The tilted heads and sideway smiles
It made me feel pretty
It gave me the power girls had over me

I miss that feeling
It let me be a girl without the heels
I’m more of a man now
Only girls have put notches in my belt

Still, I miss the pretty gay boys’ stares.

Pretty girl who doesn’t know how to walk in heels
Why are you trying so hard?
Those shoes won’t make you beautiful

Then again nothing could make me see you as beautiful
It’s not your unnatural gate or the awkward percussion of your steps

I’m in love with someone truly beautiful

Please stop walking by trying to turn my head
It’s shameful

You’re a dirty whore that should be smacked in the mouth
Let me be the one that hurts you
You know I do it well
I’ve choked you till you kissed me back
Slapped you until you had that look of submission on your face

Then you started thinking about him
The normal guy in your life
He can’t control you, even if you asked him to try
Tell me again you’re a whore
Do it, you filthy slut

This has to stop?
Why? Because you feel guilty for what you are
You can lie, but you can’t live without this
It’s your kink
And you want to do what I say

His breath was layers of coffee and mint and it reminded her of winter nights alone. Tonight she wouldn’t be alone, she had him. She had Dave. She hadn’t done this a lot, but she had done it enough to find the ones that would stay the night. Something about them staying the night made it okay to her. Made it feel like more than random, mostly anonymous sex. It was the cuddling after that made it okay, that made it feel tender. There wouldn’t be any real tenderness; she has only felt real tenderness once since her divorce three years ago. It was on one of only seven proper dates she’d been on since. Out of those seven, five led to sex, three to her orgasm and only one of those made her feel beautiful. His name was Robert and he was tender with her. His hands moved slowly, his mouth always slightly open waiting for the right moment to grab her skin and his eyes looked at her body like it was beautiful. She didn’t think she was. A cute face, maybe, but her body was curvy and she took herself as fat. A few years of being called that by your husband will do that to you. It will make you believe you’re worthless and ugly. She should have left him for that, but in the end he was the one to leave her which only made the lies truer.

She was beautiful, not in any traditional or mainstream way, but evolution wasn’t wrong in making most men look at her more than once. The ones who didn’t wouldn’t have their genes passed on for much longer. She was a great girl too, but she needed saving, something most men her age were tired of doing. She was in her early thirties. She wondered when she would think of herself as a woman and not as a girl. She thought about this during sex, but only when her back was turned to Dave. It was the polite thing to do.

Sara lay in bed, unspent, thinking about Robert. What had she done wrong with that one? She wanted to be held, but asked Dave to leave. She knew she hurt Dave, and wish she could say it was her and not him, but he is the one that let her mind wander. She became depressed anytime she thought about Robert. That date with Robert was easy. He stayed the night and most of the morning. She made coffee for him and he drank it slow. It was nothing to savor, but the company was. He called her the day after and tried to make plans, but she was working. She should have taken the day off sick to be with him. That must have been the decision that ruined everything. Sara didn’t remember the phone calls between them, the calls to set up dates after that, dates that were always canceled. She just remembers the time he begged to see her and she said no. In her memory of him worn by two years, his schedule was clear and it was her fault for not making time. In reality he was as busy as she was. Robert still thought about her too. He had kept her number, like she had kept his; they both just stopped using them.

Robert would go through periods where he would look at Sara’s number in his phone and think about calling. It had been too long now. It would be creepy if he called. Even though he thought about ways to make it seem like a causal accident. He couldn’t do it. He remembered it as his fault. He came on too strong after a great night. He should have waited longer to call her and he shouldn’t have canceled the dates he did get with her. He was so damn busy back then. It had been a long two years and it had turned his dark hair a little lighter around the temples. His job was managing a group of banks and hers was managing HR at an office that took up four floors of an office building. Neither of them were driven by their careers, they both believed in doing a job right every time, then asking for more. Unlike her he’d never been married. He found the right girl a few times, but was always too cautious with them. He thought that Sara could have been one of the right girls too, he still thought it. There had been girls after Sara, but none of them looked liked her, reacted like her, or seemed to fit like she did.

She would slightly squint her eyes and smile at him while he talked to her. He could see her focus on his words and he could see her care about them. He never liked the sound of his own voice, but that night with her, he talked just to see that look on her face. He made jokes he would never make to hear her laugh. Jokes he would only let live in his head for his own smiles. In that one night and morning she brought out the man that was in his head and he never went all the way back in.

There was a coffee shop. It was early for her and late for him. She was set up in a corner. A coffee, a book and music lightly playing over the speakers that wouldn’t be part of anyone’s generation, music she didn’t recognize from her youth or the radio. It was nice.

Robert’s truck was playing classic rock as it pulled into the coffee shop parking lot.

“Damn.” He said to himself while looking at the drive-through line.

It was busy and he was running late. He sucked hard on the mint in his mouth and decided to go in, instead of waiting in line.

Her face was in the book and his eyes were on the cute young barista. They didn’t see each other. He ordered his coffee and waited to the side for his name to be called. Her eyes stayed in the book and her body stayed in the corner. He looked around some, but mostly at his watch.

“Robert.”

Sara looked up and saw a man from behind that wasn’t her Robert. It was a man with lighter hair and a thicker waist. She looked back down at her book, a little sad and tried to find her place.

Robert took a drink and thanked the cute young barista, they shared a fake smile.

He saw her and it caused his feet to trip over nothing.

“Sara?”

She looked up and it was her Robert, “Robert?”

There was small talk, the cautious kind of talk that is supposed to die off with your age. They both liked each other still, but they both didn’t want to make a mess of this second chance.

For too long Robert forgot he was running late and only the habit of checking his watch reminded him.

“Oh shit, I’m late.”

“I’m sorry.” She didn’t want to be clingy, “Go. It was nice seeing you again.”

“No, it’s okay. I can be late.”

A part of her was happy, a part of her felt guilty, and a part of her made sure she said, “Are you sure? You can go, I don’t want you missing anything important.

She said it in the most honest voice that a lie has ever been told.

He took it as a man would take it, “Oh, okay, but it’s not really all that important. It’s okay. I can miss this.”

“No, go. It’s just me.”

“I’ll call you.”

“You still have my number?” She tried to hide her excitement and she did hide it from him, he took it as her thinking he was creepy.

“Yeah, I think so…”

It turned bad quickly and the conversation became more awkward. They said goodbye and each promised to see the other one soon. He made it three steps before his brain over thought the situation, over analyzed every word said, and eventually gave up. The man he was in his head took over and turned back around, took three steps and sat down next to a surprised Sara and put his hand on her thigh. He told her that he thought about her often and she was the most important thing to him right now and kissed her. His breath was layers of mint and coffee and it reminded her of Dave. It reminded her of all the anonymous sex she had. It reminded her of all the tender-less men. It reminded her of her ex-husband. She pulled away from Robert out of reflex to these thoughts.

“Sorry.”

She quickly collected her things and walked with quick steps out embarrassed; as he sat there feeling like everyone was looking at him.

They were.

He felt bad. He felt like he ruined this again. He called to apologize a few days later. She didn’t answer. He didn’t leave a voicemail.

Sara didn’t call back. She was too afraid, still too embarrassed. She let herself get in her own way and lost a chance at something.

Robert moved on.

Sara bought a cat and named it Bob.

I take her hand
Slide off her ring
Put it in a drawer

Take her like I did before promises made
She should have never not been mine

I love you from the top of my heart since the bottom is broken
The last girl fell right through the bottom
Maybe you could help me fix it

You seem like a girl who knows how to use the right tools
They’re all in the kitchen
I don’t expect that to be where you live
But some cookies would be good

I’m a suicide survivor, multiple attempts. I’ve been institutionalized because of an attempt and before that I talked myself out of being institutionalized for an attempt. Both times I tried to kill myself the same way. Both times I was sent to a hospital and then sent to a mental health facility. The second time I don’t remember the hospital. I’ve always under estimated how much I needed to kill myself. This is to say that I’ve had more than just two attempts. I’m currently medicated with the following:

Abilify
Lorazepam
Oxcarbazepine
Temazepam
Vyvanse

They all, even the Vyvanse which is for ADHD, have helped me not attempt again. Why did I try to kill myself? I’ll tell you they have been different reasons for different times: girls, self-hatred, a fear that I will never amount to anything, feeling unloved, feeling undeserving of what I have, not being creative enough, and just wanting to avoid things. Like I said, I’ve had more than just two attempts. Ask a professional and they’ll tell you it’s because I suffer from a dopamine deficiency. They’re right, I am too. Some of my attempts have had nothing to do with my mental health problems. Most of them did come from a part of my brain not working right.

I’m not a doctor. I do not know what I’m talking about. I’m a ADHD-bipolar-social-anxiety-disorder kind of guy. With this psychotropic cocktail I’m still a ADHD-bipolar-social-anxiety-disorder kind of guy, but I can pass for normal most of the time. I can pass as normal because it levels out my dopamine. I have a pipes and wires problem.¹ There is something physically wrong with me. It is not a mental problem. Most mental problems are physical problems. Your brain is a physical part of you. It is an organ. The most complex organ you have.

The more complex a system, the more likely it is to fail. Most people² have brains that fail them. Some people’s brain fail them in a very mechanical way. My dopamine factory is very lazy. So it needs help. It needed help for a very long time. I denied that help for a long time.

Sarah Marcy, is an ex-girlfriend. She is the reason I’m medicated. One night she showed me all the pills she took. She put each one in her palm and told me what each one did, then took them all with a smile. I pretended to understand what I just now am getting. A pill is a way to fix a problem. It’s not a crutch. It’s a wheel chair and you have no legs. You wouldn’t tell a man with no legs that he could walk if he wanted too. You wouldn’t tell him that if he just exercised more or ate better his legs would grow back. He has no legs. It’s a physical problem. It’s just a physical problem you can see instantly. I have physical problems you can’t see instantly. If you don’t believe in mental illnesses. If you think ADHD is a myth or that bipolar disorder is just someone that needs to smile more ask the people around me. They’re all believers. I’m not a completely different person. I’m just a good day, almost everyday now.

He grabbed her hair and controlled her with it. He didn’t do anything without passion or purpose. He pulled it to make her slam back onto him. The harder he pulled, the harder she would slam back, until he pulled too hard and there was a pause. Just a slight stopping until she pushed back with all the force she had. That was the moment he broke her. Where he pushed her passed her limits and she decided to keep going, decided to moan instead of whimpering out the safe word. Some would say that it made her stronger, but it didn’t make her any less his. She was his. His property, his slave. Her name was Lucy, but her collar said bitch. That’s what she wanted to be and what she wanted to be good at. He was training her. Teaching her how to be his dirty girl. She was a dirty whore. That how she felt. She was raised in a conservative home and sex was dirty. She liked that it was dirty and wrong. She loved being bad. She loved disobeying her master. She loved the punishment, her milky white ass turned pink then red by his rough hands. She’d squeak just thinking about it. Sir loved it when she squeaked and he loved it when she disobeyed.

He was older than her, every good master would be since she was only eighteen. This was her first non-vanilla relationship. This wasn’t random role playing like it had been with her past boyfriend, her only real boyfriend. This was real. What she wanted before she even knew what a submissive was. She wanted to be owned and used. Her ex-boyfriend was too much of a sweetheart and could never pull off the role. They lost their virginity together and he thought that meant they were meant to be. How could she have married someone like that? How could he have asked? They were so young. It half-way ruined her life. He stole her friends away with his crying. She kept some, but all her relationships were tainted by him. It wasn’t fair that they sided with him. That they felt pity for him. She might have been a heartbreaker, but she never had an orgasm with him and he acted like she was broken because of it. He made her feel like less of a woman because of his inadequacies as a man. At least now there was college. That’s where she met sir. He could tell what she was and he didn’t ask for her number because of it. He gave her a place, a date, a time and a simple slip of paper with everything he said and something else he didn’t.

“Wear something sexy, a dress that will come off easy and panties to match. Keep the glasses.”

Not a name, a number or anything, but a look and dominating attitude that made her feel like she was being dared to do something bad.

She wanted to do something bad, but that didn’t make it easy. She was ready for another guy— needed one. She missed sex, even bad sex. She longed for good sex. She just thought it would happen like it did before. She expected another normal, vanilla relationship or two before she found someone into this. She wanted something like this to happen, but she didn’t know if she was ready for it yet. She fought with herself about it. Part of her was offended by the note, but a bigger part was turned on. The place was a restaurant and she could keep it from going passed there if she wanted. Still she was excited. Her excitement outweighed everything. Him being so direct with her made her feel like a sexual object. Something that was deserving. Something of worth and of use. It made her feel beautiful, sexy, and dirty.

She understood that this wasn’t a date. Lucy understood that he wanted one thing and she was going to make it pretty for him. She took the day off from classes for a wax and built her outfit panties first. Dark purple satin with black lace, a matching bra and garters. It was the type of lingerie guys wanted girls to keep on. She had a floor length mirror and it now knew every angle of her. There were trouble spots. She didn’t like that her thighs touched so much and her arms could be toner. She took a deep breath and pushed the thoughts out of her mind. She changed her thinking and took her imperfections as trade offs for her nice ass and apple green eyes. Her hair had a natural curl to it and was the only thing she didn’t worry about. She worried about the heels and the purple sweater dress that clung to her curves. Then there was her make-up. She never really wore a lot of it. It took time, but she was a con-artist with make-up. She covered up her skin’s imperfections and made it look smooth and natural. She spoiled herself with the good stuff since it always lasted her. Lucy put on her glasses and got a good look at herself in the mirror. She gave herself a smirk and had bi-curious thoughts about herself on the way out the door.

The thoughts lasted as long as it took for the door to close. She felt all the confidence she had leave her once she was out of her studio apartment. It was her safe place. Where her fantasies always worked out. No one judged her for what she wanted a man to do to her, but outside she felt ridiculous and she felt like a slut. She was raised better than this. She let her body fall against the door and she pushed herself away from it with her fists. She was an adult. She was interested in this guy and she looked too good to walk back inside. She unlocked her car and slammed her head against the steering wheel. Took a breath, grew a little as a person then fixed what make-up she messed up in the car’s mirror.

At every stop light and stop sign she had to talk herself out of turning around. She would think about him and that would help. She wanted to please him. She wanted to know she could do a good job at something. She hoped that the dress was okay. It was one of the few she had. Would she have to buy more? She was thinking too far ahead. She pressed her foot down a little more than usual and got to the restaurant too early to go in. She sat in the car and tried not to sweat. She could hear her mother’s voice in her head and feel her father’s disapproval and disappointment. Lucy may have gotten out of her sheltered childhood home, but it stayed with her and played with her self-doubt and her sometimes low self-esteem. She saw him pulled up almost jumped out of the car. The more collected part of herself stopped her. The part of her that learned social norms and awkwardness, a part of her that was finally getting exercise after years of home schooling. It wasn’t the most developed part of her, but it kept her ass in the car and she thanked it for that. She waited for him to go in and looked at the clock. Five minutes would be too fast and ten too long. She decided to wait eight. She made it through six minutes and justified it in her head, it might take her two minutes to find him.

She walked to the door, then swayed to the man. He was in a dark corner of the restaurant with his back to the wall, so he could see everything and when seated, she could only see him. He stood up and pulled out her chair. She kept her eyes on his, they were intense, as she sat down she blinked and found his eyes moving over her body. He had a half-smirk that he licked while sitting down. He smelt like sandalwood, leather, and bergamot— which is to say he smelt like a man and not like a body spray.

His dress shirt was the right size on him and his coat had been tailored shorter in the sleeves to show off the right amount of cuff. He wore a tie that she wanted twisted around her wrist.

He leaned back in his chair, his voice was steady and commanded answers more than it asked questions, “Name?”

“Lucy.”

“Dominic.”

“Hello, Dominic.”

“Hello, sir.” He corrected sternly.

She looked down at the table blushing and managed a sexy innocence in her voice, “Hello, sir.”

“Age?”

She didn’t want to answer this question, but she didn’t want to have him ask her again. She didn’t want to upset him. She knew guys around his age got weirded out by her age. She lied and mumbled twenty.

He heard the pause of her thinking and saw the lie on her face, “Twenty?”

“I’m sorry, eighteen.”

“We’ll, do something about that later.” He said it looking satisfied and she wondered what would be done about it, she squeaked and he smiled.

The waiter came by and sir ordered for both of them, an Old Fashion and a virgin daiquiri, whipped cream and cherry. He called the waiter sir, looked him in the eye and said thank you to him sincerely.

She relaxed in her chair and smiled. Her breathing calmed for a moment before she felt it all fall apart in her head. She felt safe and that what started the crumbling. She dropped a hand on her thigh and dug her nails in hard. She straightened her back and decided to be honest.

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

Her eyes fell to the table again, “This is my first time.” There was no response from him, and she didn’t look up to see his reassuring face, so she kept talking to fill the awkward and empty air, “I’ve never done anything like this, I like this, I really do. I just don’t want to disappoint you.”

He leaned in for the first time, his hand touching her knee underneath the table, “I’ll teach you.”

She takes a drag off his cigarette
Burning the taste of sex from her mouth
The stale taste of flesh and sweat

He smiles at her knowingly
He doesn’t know shit
Probably never has heard a woman cum

He probably has a signature move and a name for his junk
She hates herself a little more, but is better than him
That is why she does it

What kind of revolution? Just some kind of revolution; where he was pushing for something better. Something that would reach the complexity of beauty through the simplicity of evolution, him and a single idea that would grow into something beautiful. He could think clearly. Life became an easy choice, some days an unconscious one. His past dogma was erased. He pushed out thoughts of heartbreak, Dawn and even of all the things he could have been. The bad things stayed in his head, but now they pushed him. If he wouldn’t remember the things he did, he’d make sure other people did for generations. He would change lives. It was a simple thought in his head. Not a heavy one like it should have been. Being great was just a step in his mind— a to-do item to tick off. He just needed the idea. He needed to know what his revolution would be.

He thought Martin Luther King, Jr., and thought civil rights. He thought Gandhi, and thought independence for India. He thought Jonathan Gardener, and went blank. Jonathan Gardener he thought again, he then thought of gardeners not his family, then of trees, tomatoes, apples then wanted pie. His mind jumped from thought to thought until his mind was numb and stayed clear of everything. Until the thought of not thinking crept into his mind and ruined his brief moment of peace. He thought being dead must be like that and he thought it beautiful. Pie. He and Dawn used to make pies together. He put his hand in his pocket and rubbed the small pill container on his keychain and pushed away the bad thoughts without needing to take any medicine. He smiled and started to daydream of his revolution. It would be outstanding. He would be championed as a hero. He would change the world; make it a better place for people. What kind of people though? They’re so many people that struggle, so many places for improvements. Where to start? He thought about the things he was good at and could only think of serving tables. Then a dark memory came and led to an idea.

Maybe his revolution would be the homeless. He always felt sorry for them, but one day he felt more than sorry. He was working as a server and a homeless man came in and the manager allowed him to stay warm and drink water at the bar since that’s all the homeless man asked for. You could tell the man had been homeless for some time, he looked kind, but clearly the man was not sane. This was before Jonathan himself was medicated and he had a much harsher view of the mentally ill. The homeless man carried a doll with him. He overheard the man tell the bartender about the doll. He referred to it as his only friend for the past three winters; a donation from the kindest soul he ever met, a child. The child had won it from one of those claws machines that are sometimes in supermarkets. The child was proud of himself for winning it and the homeless man could tell that the kid loved the doll instantly. The child had gambled his money and won what he wanted. The child was kind though, and when he saw the man outside of the supermarket begging, the child gave him the doll since he had nothing else to give.

“The most beautiful thing that’s ever happened to me.” said the homeless man.

No one doubted it. It was clear that the homeless man treasured the doll. It was the only thing of any value to him. This is why Jonathan felt he left it after he swiped fifty dollars from the bar counter. Jonathan thought it must have been a hard decision and to the homeless man it was. The bartender was angry though and just threw the doll in the trash. John had hated himself for not fishing it out of the bin. It was a treasure after all.

This memory made Jonathan feel ashamed, if he offered the man some cash then maybe the man wouldn’t have stolen the money and would have been able to keep his only friend. He never looked at the bartender the same way again after that night. They were supposed to move in together and become roommates. Both had saved up money, but Jonathan was able to wiggle out of it thankfully.

He wrote that memory down in his book. He was ashamed of it yes, but it still was a memory that made him who he was and he wanted to remember it. He didn’t write it big, but he did write about it in long paragraphs. There are character defining moments in life and like the times he didn’t kiss Dawn this was a moment he passed up a chance the world gave him to be a better man.

He looked for the chances to be better every day now. Like a lot of things though, they never came around while he was looking for them. Girls, for example, never seem to be around when he was looking for one and this is exactly why one came around while Jonathan was looking for anything else, but a girl. Her name wasn’t important yet, but her body was. He first saw it from behind and it was beautiful to him. It had the right curves and moved the way he liked. He felt love but dismissed it as lust, which was probably right. He saw her when he walked into the pool hall, she was talking to Mike. It was a few days after Christmas and a couple before New Year’s Eve. He thought she might be Mike’s new girl, so he just nodded at Mike and grabbed a table you could see the bar from. It was early and if the girl left he knew Mike would want to play a game with him. The traffic was horrible getting there and caused John some anxiety, but it was better being in a house still full of relatives and holiday cheer. He looked up and made eye contact with the girl, they both smiled and he thought about how beautiful she was. Mike looked back at John with a smile too.

Mike yelled, “Go get my cue, the office is unlocked. I’ll be right there.”

Jonathan had never been in the office before. He’d been in the back room to help get ice for the bar a few times, but the office was always off limits. He went in and grabbed Mike’s cue and when he came back the girl was gone. Mike was already racking up.

“So, is that a new girl?”

“Cousin.”

Mike’s answers weren’t usually short and John thought this meant she was off limits and tried to quickly change the topic, but before he could Mike offered him a beer.

“On the house.”

“On the house?” It’s never been on the house, it’s always been a “free water.”

“Yeah.”

“The old man catch you?”

“No.”

John looked confused and Mike smiled, “My dad is opening another pool hall.”

“Cool…”

Mike held up his arms and spent around, “All of this is my Christmas present.”

“What?”

“Yep.”

“He gave you his first pool hall?”

“Yeah, it’s still his on paper, but this is mine to run.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you. You know what, screw the beer let me make us a real drink.” Mike motioned for John to follow him, “I think you should brush up on how to make drinks again.”

“Why?”

“You’re still certified to serve alcohol right?”

“I don’t know, three or five years right? I should still be good. Why?”

“Well, I’m going to need a new morning bartender. You like Old Fashions?”

“Yeah, I love them, but I can’t be your bartender, school starts back up soon.”

“Come on, screw school and just take night classes. I did, they’re easier to pass and they have nice girls in them.”

“Mike, you’re not going to be able to talk me into this.”

“How about just some days?”

“Maybe some days.”

“See, already talked you into it.”

Mike finished off the drinks and they were good, strong, too strong for eleven-thirty in the morning.

Mike smirked and said, “So I caught you checking out my cousin.”

“In my defense I didn’t think she was family. I just thought she was your girlfriend.”

“I love how you define off limits, Johnny boy.” He laughed and continued, “She’s got a job here and she’s single. Said you were cute.”

“She did not.”

Mike said sarcastically with a laugh, “She did get a job here, I hired her.”

“So she’s really single?”

“Yeah.”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“I’m not attached to her to be honest. My mom wanted me to give her the job. I’ve only ever seen her at Christmases.” Mike stopped and suddenly became very serious. He took a drink and looked deep into John’s eyes and said, “But if I have to come in on my day off to cover for her because you broke her heart, I’ll fucking kill you.”

Mike broke and ran the table for a bit. He used every bit of skill, concentration and control but still lost. Jonathan wasn’t the better player he just always had the better luck. Luck was always something Jonathan always seemed to have. Some say luck is just chances that are taken by people brave or stupid enough to take them. Jonathan didn’t believe that though. He didn’t think of himself as brave or stupid. Lucky though, he thought he was sometimes. He came from a family that always had food and kept him in new clothes and that was lucky. He felt bad that he had so little suffering in his life and tried so hard and thought so many times about ending his own life over what most would think as petty heartache. Everyone has their own levels of pain though. Life is a bitch that way. It sets you up to expect things and with Jonathan it set him up to believe things would just be handed to him. Life stopped handing him things and that’s when the depression really started.

He never remembers himself as a happy kid, then again he doesn’t remember much of his childhood at all. Thinking about it leaves a dark, empty emotional after taste in his mouth. It also leaves him feeling sad, lonely, helpless and afraid. Still, some remember him as a happy kid, it was an act mostly. Not to say he was never happy. Children always seem to find happiness, even if it’s in the nooks and crannies of developing mental illness. He had happy times; he’s seen some of the videos. They we’re only videos though, he was missing the memories. That’s what the mind does though. It’ll take big pieces of sadness and push them out for you to survive. Jonathan felt bad about pushing so much of his childhood out. He was born into so much, but none of it was what a child really needed. He had things, just not the right things.