Skeletons in my closet

"You are only as sick as your secrets.." a phrase that has stuck with me for many years, as it is some of the truest words that I read in all my years.

It means your sickness can be measured by the secrets you keep. The more you have, the sicker you are. I suppose it is intended to suggest that talking about your problems is healthy, while keeping them secret is unhealthy. I've carried secrets with me for as long as I can remember, and rarely would they ever be exposed to another person. There are secrets that I will take to my grave, but hopefully this inside look into my life will be the outlet for me to finally let them out.

There have been things that have happened to me in life that I am ashamed of, the fear of being looked at differently because of these secrets is why I keep them inside. There are 2 people thatyou should never lie to in life, your doctor and your lawyer...and during my psych appointment I've

let out some of my deepest secrets but never went into full detail like I should. My mind is a complex and twisted place and even I can't understand the reason I think the things that I do.

From strange sexual perversions and fantasies all the way to my countless addictions, secrets have always been a normal part of my life. My mind always seemed to operate on a different level than others, and I never understood wby I am the way I am. I have questioned my sanity to endless degrees, and just have accepted the fact that I cannot be completly honest with everyone.

While some people do know some of my secrets, tbere isnt a single person I can tbink off that really knows ALL of me..because I havent found someone that I can open up to and trust completely. That is why I hope tbat when Im gone, these words will help everyone understand what made me the way I am. If i ever kept a secret from you, it wasnt your fault, it was my inability to trust others as well as admit my sickness.

There is a darkness inside of me that I could never quite understand, Id have thoughts or feeling that were so strange that I would be forced to ask myself "what the fuck is wrong with me, why do I think like this".



Whatever chemical imbalance I was born with has kept me riding that fine line between genius and insanity my entire life. My actions at times even mystify myself, and if I cant understand my own madness, how will the rest of the world?

I hide my addiction to drugs because of the stigma associated with drugs of choice...its not like hiding smokin weed or a few drinks. No, Im hiding either an expensive heroin habit, a love for endless sex on crystal meth, or my addiction to lacing my weed with crack cocaine in order to get the high I needed. These drugs have all controlled my life to different degrees.

Being seen as an addict, people to see you as a dopefiend. I chose to hide my addictions, not be seen as a junkie. Inside I know the truth.As long as I can play it off , I can maintain my image of being somewhat normal.

I was born a drug addict and the drug abuse by both of my parent is the strongest contributing factor to me being "different". Cocaine and alcohol were their favorites. I recall my father telling that my mother may have been huffing glue and drinking during her pregnancy as well.



My father was pimp in New York City for quite some time. During this time, he also had a pretty good drug habit. He said his habit would cost 200-300 a day when he was shooting heroin, and cocaine was part of his daily cocktail. My father was a successful pimp because of his ability to con women into doing whatever he wanted. He had the gift of gab. He could talk a cat off the back of a fish truck. I'm sure he was able to sell his hoes dreams with ease, keeping them on the hook by keepin them hooked. Half dope dealer, half pimp, and 100% smooth talker...he maintained a stable of 3-5 women that always did as they were told.

As a young child I would hear the stories he would tell about New York, as if it was part of a movie he was recalling. I would be fascinated by my fathers stories and they way he would tell them....some kids got bedtime stories before bed, I would get drunken war stories of the pimpin and dope game told to me. Dad would let me stay up with him and he would replay memories to me in such detail while pouring drink after drink. These arent normal things to hear as a 5 year old, and it definitely made me grow up much faster than I should have. But if it wasnt for the game he passed on to me, I wouldnt be who i am today.

My father was what you may have considered a typical pimp, he always drove a brand new Cadillac, had his bitches on the track making money, and he was always dressed as fly as could be. For most of my life I only recall my father wearing a suit, usually a 3 piece and a brim hat. I look at my fashion sense now and it definitely rubbed off on me. A leather jacket and a fedora were always part of his ensemble...sharp as a razor blade and as fly as he could be at all time. My father only owned 2, maybe 3 pairs of sneakers. He had a closet full of Stacy Adams shoes in every color and style you could think with a pair to match every suit he had and he had a shitload of 3 piece suits. In my early years I lived with my mother after they divorced, and I can recall him always driving a brand new car when he would pick me up for his visits. A black leather 3/4 trench coat was his trademark, along with leather interior in most of his cars. Monte Carlos, Chryslers and Cadillacs were his favorites. Most of the cars I have owned as an adult had a spinner knob on the steering wheel aka a "suicide stick"..a small knob that allows you to turn the wheel with ease, and I recall seeing one on my fathers Monte Carlo as a child in the 80's. It's 2015 and my car parked outside has one on it now. I can picture him rollin through the streets of New York City, turning corners in his Cadillac and "checking his traps"...making sure his women were on the job and getting that money. My father could easily be called SuperFly, because of his smooth swagger and overall demeanor, very distinct. If he stepped into a room you noticed him immediately and could feel his aura of importance before he even spoke a word. You KNEW he was somebody, but you just didnt know who.



As a young child I always saw my father as the epitomy of a business professional, as he could have easily passed for a doctor or lawyer if you passed him on the street. His vocabulary was a vast collection of words and phrases that confused me as a child, but he made it a point to always teach them to me.



When I didnt know what something meant or how to spell it, he would bring out that huge dictionary and make me look it up. There were no easy answers with him, he definitely made me earn my education. I hated it back then, but I sure the hell respect it now. I naturally grew a talent for reading and spelling and was definitely more advanced then most kids in my class because of his constant lessons.

While I grew up faster and matured quicker than most children my age, it wasnt always in a negative way. I was trained by my father at a level that was far more advanced than other kids my age. This always made kids my age seem boring and as I grew older I could hold a conversation with adults better than I could with my so called "peers." I was once given a series of tests in 6th grade to determine my aptitude and the teachers were blown away by the results. I was told tbat I had scored closer to high school and college levels than junior high, and my teachers wanted to place me in the advanced classes. There was just one problem, I hated school and was extremely rebellious to all forms of authority, which didnt mix well with the level of potential they saw within me. I was somewhat of an outcast and a loner for most of junior high. I had gained noteriety in elementary school for being a troublemaker, always gettin into fights, and being the kid that got caught with cocaine in 3rd grade.

I stole a bag of coke from my fathers room and took it to school to show my friends...one thing led to another and the smart ass girl in my class ratted me out. I was called into the office and searched, they found the dope sack and confiscated it. It seems that someone in the office had a taste for nose candy because my bag of coke somehow came up missing from the office, the cops were called and a report was made. Surprisingly, I didnt seem to get in much trouble for it and didnt realize how serious it was...until the drug task force kicked in our front door the next day. I was playing with my GI joes in my room while dad had a bitch in his room and was gwttin high...I heard a knock at the doo and knew to NEVER answer the door...then I heard them yell "POLICE DEPARTMENT, OPEN THE DOOR, WE HAVE A SEARCH WARRANT"....and then the front doos seemed to explode and I ran back to my room...12 uniformed officers and detectives flooded our 2 bedroom apartment and tore apart the place looking for dope.

Yeah, I knew I was in deep shit...the fucked up thing about it was while my dad was smokin crack in the next room, I was in my room and was playing with sugar...and when I say "play" I mean I was making lines of sugar and snorting them to imitate what I had been seeing done countless times before.

I remember trying to hide it when the cops came into my room but they saw it....and I was only in 3rd grade, just a kid (but I already knew how to line up and snort dope...crazy right?)

Yeah..hahahhahaa....my childhood was definitely different than most...



To be continued......