I’ve led a double life for as long as I can remember.

Most people see me as kind, some might describe me as a philanthropist. Others would say that I’m funny or witty, occasionally unique, and rarely, a modest few have said brilliant.

Those who know me well, all two of them, know that I am deeply troubled…

Even they are unaware of the depth of it all, the twisted fundamentals that I have been bullied into abiding by are relentless, gripping, and rooted deep within. They are controlled by a quite perverse and sadistic brute that has taken up residence inside my psyche…

Torture. That’s exactly what it is. Not to be mistaken with any peculiar form of penance. I’m no masochist. This is not voluntary. The agony of an all encompassing, easy to fathom, thorough explanation makes me very tired. Being unable to provide one…makes me feel like a failure. What does one do, to be rid of these ancient demons? How does one cope with violent suffocation day after day?

I don’t know. All I can do is write. It’s the only constant in my life. When I haven’t bathed, slept, or eaten for days, when I haven’ t washed or brushed my hair in weeks; when the pain rips me apart, and bleeds me dry, I write….