[dropcap]I[/dropcap] was raised by a feminist, single mother. When I was very young, my father grew tired of hassling with her and drifted away. I grew up feeling that my father didn’t love me. I didn’t know what parental alienation was but I knew what it felt like. The only thing I was told about him was he was a “deadbeat dad,” that didn’t pay his child support.

When I was a teenager, my mother and I ran into him by chance while out on an errand. He looked at me and asked, “Do you know who I am?” I hadn’t a clue and said, “No.” I could tell by the pain on his face that I had stabbed him in the heart. As we said our goodbyes, he gave me his pocket knife. I never saw him again. I still have that pocket knife today to remind me of him.

My first taste of the red pill was in college, when there were no clothesline projects or white ribbon weeks, for which I’m grateful. I do remember the sense of unfairness with scholarships and finical aid. No one would help me because of my skin color and gender. Eventually, I “manned up” and earned my way through school.

Consumed with school, work, and girlfriends, my first taste of the bitter red pill was forgotten and I slipped back into my blue pill coma. I had met the love of my life and eventually we were married.

Nothing you could have told me back then would have changed my mind. We were best friends and perfect for each other. I wasn’t going to make the same mistakes my mother and father made. I was going to always be there for my wife and children, no matter what. I made an oath before God and witnessnes to honor and protect her, till death do us part. I meant it and I lived it.

15 years later, I had a good job, a house, great kids, and I was still in love. I was truly happy. Blue cool-aid is yummy! What happened next would shake me to my core and force me to choke down the red pill; whole this time.

I discovered my wife was having an affair. When I confronted her about it she called the cops on me because she was “afraid.” Afraid! Afraid of what? I was her white knight. I never laid a finger on her or the kids, ever. In a wash of horror, I got it. She wasn’t afraid at all. It was over, and she just played her trump card.

I met the cop in the driveway and calmly told him what happened. He gave me a choice. I could leave and never come back or he could take me to jail. I’m grateful this happened before VAWA.

For the next year I lived in an unfurnished apartment, sleeping on the floor. Between my attorney fees and paying both the house mortgage and apartment rent, I was dead broke. There were days I would go without food because I didn’t have any money.

I would “man-up” at work, then I would come home and sob. I had lost everything that was important to me. Friends and family turned on me. In some twisted way they blamed me for the divorce. I tried two different counselors who wanted to sell me their version of “women good, men bad.” There was nowhere to turn but within.

In my darkest hours, I considered taking my life. Blue pill withdrawal is a bitch. My children kept me going. I didn’t want to leave them with a whole in their hearts, like the one I felt as a child. During this time, I developed a deeper understanding and compassion for my father and his loss.

As time went by, I would just sit and think for hours. I would sit and wonder how did I get here? This was her wrong not mine. She had an affair, yet she gets the house, the car, and the kids. I get attorney fees, alimony, and child support. What kind of fucked up world is this? There is no justice!

Once the divorce was over, I got my life back together. I wandered for a couple years thinking the world was crazy. No one could see what I could see or at least wouldn’t admit to it. I was living outside the matrix. I was MGTOW but I didn’t know the term then.

Then one day on YouTube, I came across one of Factory’s videos, and then JTO’s, then The Happy Misogynist. I realized I wasn’t alone. In fact, there were men much farther down the road than I was. That day an MRA was born.