Video diary time. Let’s start with the good: I have had a very productive last couple of days, making tremendous progress at the piano. While I have disturbing things to discuss, I want to provide a quick music update first. Currently, I am listening to a 300-year-old masterpiece, a Passacaglia by George Frideric Handel, written in 1720. I feel delighted to have the privilege of deeply studying the sheet music for such a wonderful piece of history. It is Baroque harpsichord music in the key of G minor, and I find it simply delightful.
Whenever I learn the music theory behind these famous classical masterpieces, I am blown away and amused by the music's simple beauty and harmony. This harmony stands in harsh contrast to life's chaos. I sometimes think to myself that I hate the world and everyone in it, but then I remember the few things I truly love: my two children, my two precious dogs, and learning to play the piano. I am amazed by the music of the Classical, Baroque, and Romantic eras. In this Passacaglia, for example, the music moves around the circle of fifths in a way that is incredibly pleasing to the ear—from G to C to F to B-flat to E-flat and back again. It is mathematical, beautiful, and awesome.
I have been struggling with issues that seemingly have no good solution. However, there is a slight bit of good news: I have made tremendous progress in psychotherapy. While the word "psycho" can sound scary, this mental health therapy is essential, even if it is terrifying to confront a childhood where your parents failed you. I have realized that my stepfather's neglectful parenting was abusive and severely damaging.
At forty years old, I am coming to terms with a tragic reality: it is not normal to not want to live. Healthy people with loving, trusting family bonds simply do not feel this way. I previously assumed that good parents would always love their children, but while my mother likely cares for me, she was complicit in allowing me to be hurt at such a young age. I was so deeply traumatized that I have spent my life fantasizing about dying just to relieve the pain. This man chose to be my father, yet he didn't want the role. His presence prevented anyone else from doing a better job. I vowed never to repeat this cycle with my own kids. I used to assume my parents did their best, but the evidence tells a very different story.
Twenty years ago, around the time I graduated from college, I was massively depressed. I hated myself and life so much that I did the most reckless thing I could think of: I joined the United States Marine Corps. I thought volunteering for war would be an honorable way to die. While war often draws unhealthy people, my honor, courage, and commitment made me a good Marine. For the first time, I found real camaraderie and purpose.
Fortunately—or unfortunately—I survived, only to endure the trauma of life for a longer period. I eventually stumbled upon religion, hoping it could fill the void of love in my heart. Predictably, religion failed to provide the love I desperately wanted; it turned out to be wishful thinking. I still hold a tiny bit of faith that God might show up through people, but false promises do not work for me. As a psychologist and sociologist, I recognize that religion has a functionality for society, but I am too intellectually curious to believe what I know to be untrue. I cite the evidence, yet I am wise enough to know I don’t have all the answers.
I have been seriously depressed my entire life; I was disabled long before I went to war. Still, joining the Marine Corps was the best decision I ever made because I did something honorable. Now, as a disabled veteran, I survive on the disability income the government owes me for the wars they started.
The sad reality is that I don’t have much time left. I am extremely unhealthy due to a lifetime of not caring for myself. I struggle with addiction, bipolar disorder, and a sense of nihilism—the feeling that nothing really matters. I smoke cigarettes and cannabis constantly just to feel calm, and I drink heavily when not in full-blown mania. The root cause of addiction is almost always trauma; it is a futile survival mechanism. I have taken Seroquel for decades, which contributed to the ruin of my marriage, but I took it solely for the sweet relief of sleep. When you can’t eat or sleep correctly, it is a recipe for suffering.
In my religious days, I accepted facts without evidence. Now, I value truth over comforting lies. The evidence is clear: I am severely damaged. I have torturous memories of my upbringing that I once tried to rationalize. It doesn't matter if the harm was accidental; if you break the law and cause harm, you are still responsible. Without responsibility, life is chaos.
Child neglect is a form of abuse that carries the same harmful outcomes as physical violence. My stepfather failed in his sacred responsibility to be my guardian, and I have hundreds of pieces of evidence to back that up. Therapy can help, but you have to talk about the root causes—specifically, the atrocious ways my parents failed me.
I have an explanation now for the hatred and contempt I feel toward the world. This hatred is radically against my nature, as I am naturally a kind person. I vowed my children would never feel this way; they have never been afraid of me or questioned my love. I have shattered that generational curse.
Recently, my sister called my dad the "stupidest person she’s ever met." While reckless, it got me thinking about the Dunning-Kruger effect. Intelligence is a curse in this regard; I envy people who live without caring about the damage they cause. My mother is a meek woman, but she was complicit. My stepfather expressed outrage whenever I spoke of "unpleasant" things like nihilism. During a mental health crisis, he told me not to trouble my mother with my "stupid problems" because it upset her. But what about me? Does it matter if I am upset? I forgive them because they aren't mental health doctors and don't know what to do, but I still assumed he would care for me for the sake of my mother.
My parents never gave me a "wake-up call" of dignity, which led me into an abusive marriage where I stayed for the kids. When I was at my most vulnerable—a disabled, homeless veteran in a mental health crisis—they abandoned me. They sent me to a program in Massachusetts because it was easier to push me away. Out of sight, out of mind. I was thrust into an impossible situation and entered a reckless second marriage at my lowest point. My stepfather did the most selfish thing a caregiver can do: he stopped caring.
I respect my biological father as an intelligent man. Despite his political views and conspiracy theories, he has far more intellectual honesty than anyone else in my family. I can be honest with him without fear. Conversely, I once reached out to my brother-in-law, a Christian, and shared my distress. He listened but never followed up. I don't trust anyone anymore.
It is a tragedy because I could have done good things for this world. I wanted to be a doctor or a politician to do the greatest good for the greatest number of people. I've mistreated my body for forty years because no one taught me how to love myself. For a long time, I thought I just had a "gifted" brain; in reality, my brain was just reacting to severe trauma.
Biological intelligence has one evolutionary goal: to raise your children so they want to live and so they outlive you. At this point, I might die before my stepfather. A stupidity that lacks the love required to keep your children alive is the definition of peak biological failure.
Parents who abuse their children run the risk of creating monsters. I love my children, and my actions prove that. I am trying to show my parents leadership by telling them they need to make an effort to be grandparents for the sake of their legacy. They are grandparents to my sister's Caucasian children, but my children are biracial, and they seem to treat them differently. It looks like discrimination to me, and it makes my mental health worse.
I am considering legal action. It is a crime in our society to abuse a child to the point that they lose the will to live. My stepfather ruined my life while he lives peacefully, owning two houses and golfing every day. He should know what he’s done. I still want to be a doctor of psychiatric medicine to help others navigate this level of suffering. I don't care about money, but in our world, money is how you pay for crimes. I earned the care of the VA by fighting for my country; I shouldn't have had to "earn" the love of my parents.
As an organism, my brain has been in panic mode my entire life. That is a normal reaction to trauma, but it resulted in bipolar disorder and addiction. Bipolar disorder is an extraordinarily cruel condition that lifts people to highs only to plunge them into devastating lows. It increases the risk of suicide and clouds judgment.
Seventeen years ago, after returning from Afghanistan, I screamed at my stepfather that all I wanted to do was play the piano. He had no compassion; he told me to "grow up and get a job." He owned a business and could have helped me, but he chose not to.
I have amassed a massive collection of piano sheet music over the last fifteen years—thousands of pages. My final plea is that before or after I die, this collection goes somewhere it will be appreciated—perhaps a senior center or an orphanage. This is invaluable material. Printed sheet music is the best for sight-reading, and I hope someone gets to use it. I don't have anyone to give it to.
The reality of dying alone is exhausting.
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Analyzing evidence of a ruined life from parental abuse. Keeping a digital record of my progress,
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pain, and suffering. Part one,
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the contrast of life's harmony, and chaos. All right, video diary time. Hello,
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welcome. Let's start with the good. I have had a very productive last couple of days as I am making tremendous
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progress at the piano. I've got some disturbing things to talk about. But first, I'll give a quick piano sheet
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music update. What we're listening to right now is a 300-year-old masterpiece called Pacalia by George Frederick
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Handel that he wrote in 1720. I am delighted to have the privilege to be able to deeply studying the piano sheet
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music for such a wonderful piece of history. It is Baroque harpsacord music in the key of G minor and I find it just
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1 minute, 3 seconds
delightful. Whenever I learn the music theory behind these famous classical masterpieces, I am always blown away and
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1 minute, 10 seconds
quite amused by this music's simple beauty and harmony. This harmony stands in harsh contrast to life's chaos. I
1:20
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sometimes think to myself, I hate the world and everyone in it. But then I always remember there are a few things
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in this life I truly love. I cherish my two children. I love my two precious dogs. And I absolutely love learning and
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playing the piano. I'm just so amazed by the music of the classical, Baroque, and Romantic eras. Let me give you an
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example. In this pasalia in the key of G minor, the music goes around the circle of fifths in a way that is very pleasing
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to the ear. It goes from a major to D to G to C to F to B flat to E flat and then
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back around again. That's what makes the music sound incredibly beautiful. It's mathematical and I find it to be so
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awesome. Dare I say I love it.
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Part two, the realization of abnormal suffering.
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I've got some things that have really been bothering me and sadly there is no good solution to this problem. However,
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slight bit of good news. I have made tremendous progress recently in psychotherapy.
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If you don't know what that is, I know the word psycho is a scary sounding word, but this is a type of mental
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health therapy. And sometimes it truly can be terrifying if, for example, you had a bad childhood where your parents failed you either deliberately or
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unintentionally and you ended up seriously hurt. I realized that my stepfather's neglectful parenting
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behavior was abusive, and it severely damaged me. Now I am 40 years old and I'm coming to terms with something crazy
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that it is not normal to not want to live. Most people do want to live except as far as I can tell abuse survivors.
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I've always had fears of having children, worrying that I would screw them up and they would end up hating me despite pouring out unconditional love.
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I thought that was the worstc case scenario.
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My god, was I off about something major here. I just assumed good parents would always love their children no matter
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what. And while my mom likely cares for me, she was complicit in allowing me to be hurt at such a young age. I was so
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deeply traumatized my entire life that I have always fantasized about thoughts of dying just to relieve the pain and
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suffering. Now I know that healthy people with loving, trusting family bonds and loving childhoods simply do
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not feel like that. I am just now coming to terms with the fact that this feeling is incredibly tragic. It feels like such
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a tremendous waste of life and potential. This man came into my life and chose to be my father and willingly took on the role of raising me.
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Unfortunately, he didn't want to be a father and his presence prevented anyone else from coming in to do a better job.
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It is a real mind [ __ ] that people could be so cruel. A man that takes on the woman with children but refuses to do
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his job as a father. He clearly didn't want to even try. And that hurt caused me so much pain. I vowed never to repeat
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the cycle with my own kids. Until recently, I always just assumed that my parents did their best. But the
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evidence, which is the main theme of this essay, it tells a very different story.
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Part three, the root of addiction and physical decay. Enter the United States Marine Corps. An abuse of marriage and the hope of religion.
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About 20 years ago, around the time I was graduating from college, and for reasons unknown at the time, I was massively depressed. I didn't know why,
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but I had this awful feeling that I just hated myself and life so much. I just wanted to die. So, what did I do? I did
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the most reckless thing I could think of and joined the Marine Corps, thinking it would at least be an honorable way to die. Volunteering for war. Worst thing
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mankind does doesn't always draw the healthiest of people. But my honor,
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courage, and commitment did make me a very good marine. And for the first time in my life, I felt I found real camaraderie, meaning purpose.
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Fortunately or unfortunately, I survived only to endure the trauma of life for a meaningless longer period of time. I then eventually stumbled upon religion,
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hoping that could fill the deep void of love in my heart. Predictably, religion failed to provide the love I desperately
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wanted. It turned out to be just wishful thinking, but I still hold a tiny bit of faith in my heart that God might still
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show up in my life, perhaps through the people who call themselves Christians.
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My sister is still reeling from the trauma from our childhood. She has never been normal either. She overcompensates
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by overprotecting her children. She won't even let me in her life to be involved in her kids' lives. As a
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psychologist and sociologist, I recognize that religion has a functionality for society. It works for
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simple-minded people who don't ask too many questions or get caught up on things like evidence. False promises do
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not work for me. I am far too conscientious and intellectually curious to believe what I know to be untrue. I
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cite the evidence, yet I am wise and humble enough to know I don't have all the answers. God simply cannot be proven or disproven.
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Part four, depression, addiction,
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nihilism, and the toll on the body. This I know for sure. I have been seriously depressed my entire life. To be honest,
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I was disabled long before I went to war. It was being disabled that brought me to the war in the first place. Yet, I
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always say that joining the US Marine Corps was the best decision I ever made because I did something honorable that
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most men are too cowardly to do. Now, as a disabled veteran, I only survive because of the disability income the our
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government owes me for stupid wars they started. Thanks for that, President George Bush. Even if the so-called war
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on terror in Afghanistan itself turned out to be a monumental waste of money and was totally meaningless in the end,
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the sad reality is that I know that I don't have much time left in this world.
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I am extremely unhealthy as a result of a lifetime of not wanting to live and not caring for myself. I struggle with
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addiction. I have bipolar disorder and I have this overwhelming feeling that nothing really matters. That is
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nihilism. Maybe that is how philosophers process the fear of not being loved. I chronically smoke cigarettes and I must
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smoke cannabis constantly just to feel a bit of calm. And I drink heavily when I am not in full-blown mania. The root
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cause of addiction is almost always trauma. Nobody wants to be addicted. If I were healthy and I felt cared about or
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if I really felt loved, I never would have started. Being addicted is just a futile and sick survival mechanism. I
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have taken Cerakquel for decades which contributed to the ruin of my marriage.
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I refused to stop because I was so deeply trauma bonded to that so-called atypical antiscychotic.
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I took it solely for the sweet relief of sleep because I am so damaged. My body doesn't work right. And when you can't
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eat or sleep correctly, it is a recipe for suffering. Part five,
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evidence and the anger. In my religious days, I accepted facts without evidence,
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as religions require one to do. Now that I am a grown man, I value truth and reality over comforting lies. The
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evidence is clear. I am severely screwed up. I have torturous memories of what my parents did to me, which I always tried
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to rationalize away. I told myself my stepfather was doing his best. But it doesn't matter if it was on purpose.
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Truth is that if you accidentally break the law and cause harm, you are still responsible because without responsibility,
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life is chaos and nihilism wins. I objectively feel this guy ruined my life and I have the memories to back it up.
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Child neglect is a form of abuse and tragically can have the same harmful outcomes as more obvious forms of abuse
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such as physical violence and sexual assault. It is a sick thing to do to a child you claim to love based solely on
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the outcome of my life. My stepfather failed in his sacred responsibility to be my guardian. I have hundreds of
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pieces of evidence regarding how badly I was treated to back that up. The fact of the matter is that if you are suffering so much that you don't want to live,
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something went drastically wrong.
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Therapy can help, but you have to talk about the root causes. That is the power and effectiveness of mental health counseling, specifically psychotherapy.
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Getting to the root of why I simply cannot forget the atrocious ways my parents screwed me up.
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Part six. the family dynamic and intellectual isolation.
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I can cite more bad memories than I can count. But now at least the good news is I have an explanation for why I feel
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this hatred and contempt toward the world. Let me be super clear about this hatred in my heart. This hatred is
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radically against the very nature of my spirit and soul as I am naturally an extremely kind and loving person. And I
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always knew something was very off and wrong about my upbringing. When I married, I vowed never to let my
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children feel the way I did. My children have never been afraid of me, and they have never had to question my love for
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them. I pride myself on being the best thing in their lives. I have shattered that generational curse of child
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neglect, breaking the harmful patterns that my parents failed to overcome. I used to rationalize my parents' failures as a result of their own parents'
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failures, but I chose a different path.
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At a recent gathering, my sister called my dad the stupidest person she's ever met. Now, while that was surely a
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reckless comment to make, it got me thinking. I am not even opposed to calling people stupid, especially if
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they objectively are. I realize the Dunning Krueger effect. The more I know, the more I realize how little I know.
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Intelligence is more of a curse for me in this regard. I envy normal people who live their lives without caring about
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the damage they have done. I shared these feelings with my sister because she gave the impression she loved me.
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though there isn't much evidence of that. I am sick of allowing these people to keep hurting me and my children. My
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mom is a meek and gentle woman. And while she is less guilty, she is still complicit. It always felt so strange
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that my stepfather genuinely seemed to not like being around me, let alone demonstrating tangible love for me.
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He used to express outrage whenever I talked about unpleasant things like nihilism. For example, I remember a few
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years ago when I was in full-blown mental health crisis and felt close to dying, I reached out to my family for support and that [ __ ] told me
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not to trouble your mother with my stupid problems. It upsets her. I get it. He is trying to protect my mom and
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his own peace. I respect that. But what about me? What about if I am upset? Does
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that matter? I understand it is a cycle as I was likely a rather frustrating child to deal with because I was so
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disturbed. And I also get it that these people are not mental health doctors themselves and that they don't know what
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to do. I sometimes forget that other people often don't have the same education that I do. I have a master's
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degree in mental health counseling and have spent thousands upon thousands of hours studying the psychology behind these issues. Because of that, I know
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exactly what needs to be done. It is understandable that others may not be as informed or simply don't know what they are doing and I forgive them for that.
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However, I still always assumed he would care for me for the sake of my mother.
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My trauma has caused my mom a great deal of trauma herself, which of course makes me feel guilty. But is it her fault? I'd
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say that if you screw up your children this badly, it is evidence you did something wrong. As an empath, if
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someone told me I hurt them, I would be contrite and prove my love. My parents,
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however, have never treated me with dignity. I do not feel respected.
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Part seven, life as a disabled veteran.
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My parents never gave me a wakeup call of dignity. This led me into an abusive marriage where I stayed because I was
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taught to accept being abused. I stayed for the kids and because I didn't want to be a failure. If my stepfather had
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done his job, I never would have been in that shitty marriage in the first place.
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When I was at my most vulnerable, they totally abandoned me. I was a disabled homeless veteran in a mental health
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crisis. Having exhausted all of my options in New York, they sent me far away to program in Massachusetts.
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Why? Because I was homeless and mentally ill, and it was far easier to just push me away and let someone else deal with
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me and my problems. Out of sight, out of mind. So there I found myself alone,
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depressed, and desperate, living at a homeless program for veterans that have no family who cares for them. And thus I was thrust into an impossible situation.
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And I entered into a reckless marriage while I was most vulnerable. At my lowest point, my stepfather did, in my
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opinion, the most selfish thing a caregiver can do. He stopped caring as if he ever cared in the first place. The
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evidence shows he doesn't seem to care about me at all. And so the terrible cycle continues. If I talk to my mom
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when I need support, if that distresses her, then I get in trouble because Pop is a sensitive man. He never liked being
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criticized or told he was wrong. As a child, if I expressed an honest feeling that he didn't like, he got outraged,
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which was terrifying for a child. And so I learned not to be honest. And he has continued to reinforce that pattern my
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entire life. Do not be honest. We do not care about your feelings. We don't care if you don't want to live.
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Part eight. Intellectual honesty, stolen potential, and the cost of trauma. So
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when my sister said my dad is dumb, I thought it was a bit rude. But here's thing about my biological father. He is
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one of the only people I can actually call and talk to for hours. I can be totally honest with him without fear. I
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think it's partly because we're related and have similar brains or thinking patterns. In fact, I respect my dad as
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an intelligent man. Granted, he's got a couple of big problems. Like, he supports the Republicans, and he
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definitely believes in a number of wacky conspiracy theories, but hey, whatever.
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No one is perfect. But as far as I can tell, my dad has far more intellectual honesty than anybody else in my family.
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2 years ago, when I was super distressed, I called my brother-in-law because I thought he was someone I could trust. I talked to him for a couple of
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hours and shared with him some very troubling, very distressing things because I thought I could trust him. But
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no, I told him some of the most depressing stuff ever. And because he's a Christian, I expected more. I thought he was an ally, a friend, and a brother.
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He listened, but he never followed up.
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Never once. He never even called me back. I mean, what the hell, right? And
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these are Christians. I don't know why I thought I could trust them because of them being Christians. What the hell is
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wrong with me? Now I don't trust anybody anymore. And I often feel I hate everybody in the world now. Anyway, it's
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such a shame because I've made such tremendous progress here, but unfortunately, I fear it's far too late.
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I'm already dying. I'm so unhealthy and I'm dying alone. That's such a tragedy.
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I could have done some good things for this world if I had just been taken care of better. I wanted to be a doctor or a
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politician. I only wanted to be a politician because I thought that was the method to do the greatest good for the greatest number of people in the
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world. and politics are full of the most evil and corrupt power- hungry people in the world. So, we need more good, honest
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people in public service to counteract that. I suppose that could still happen if some sort of miracle occurs. I mean,
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thank God I'm not actively suicidal or anything, but you can't escape the health toll you put on your body by mistreating yourself for 40 years. That
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happened partly because no one taught me how to [ __ ] take care of myself. No one showed me how to love myself. So what did I do? I got addicted to drugs,
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alcohol, and cigarettes. I have to smoke marijuana every day just to feel slightly at peace. For a while, when I
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was younger, I thought I just had this really gifted brain, that I was just really smart. No, that's actually the
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result of such severe trauma that your brain freaks out and doesn't know what to do. And frankly, I'm pissed off about it all.
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Part nine, a parents only job. I'm contemplating what to do about this. One
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possible solution is complete contrition. just keep attending family functions and pretending these people haven't been severely neglecting me my
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whole life. That's one option, but I don't have much time left. So, I don't know exactly what to do. This is one
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reason why I'm diving so deep into piano and music. I'm spending all my time learning this because I've always wanted to be really good at something. To be
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truly great at an instrument, it is said that it takes 10,000 to 20,000 hours of practice. I'm good at a lot of things
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and I am hyper intelligent. Not smart enough to save myself, but smart enough to contemplate the world's problems and
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courageous enough to try to do something to help. But now I feel like I hate everybody and I definitely don't trust
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anybody. Now this cruel world doesn't get to have me as a doctor or as a productive member of society.
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This is evidence of what happens when parents completely fail. A parents sacred goal and only job is to make
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their children's lives better than their own. Some people with mental illness commit heinous crimes against others
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because they were so severely abused themselves. I don't even know where I got my morality from. It certainly
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wasn't from these people. Sadly, that dude seems devoid of morality. Perhaps it's because he has no higher education.
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So maybe he isn't even aware of how stupid he is. My sister said my dad is dumb. It got me thinking, what is
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intelligence anyways? What does it mean to be smart? I have the kind of intelligence that gathers massive
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amounts of data, which isn't always helpful, or the good kind of intelligence.
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Biological intelligence on the other hand has only one evolutionary goal to raise your children so they want to live
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life and that they outlive you. At this point I might die before this man who is 30 years older than me. Sometimes I ask
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myself why do I even want to keep living? What is the point of life if not to love each other? My original goal was
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to just outlive my mother so she wouldn't ever have to feel the pain of seeing me, her only son, and her youngest child perish and die. It turns
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out they don't seem to really care either way. Now, I argue that is the definition of peak biological
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evolutionary stupidity. A stupidity so stupid that it lacks the common sense, maturity, compassion, leadership skills,
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and most importantly, the love that is required to keep your children alive.
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Part 12. Racism and discrimination.
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Parents who abuse their children run the risk of creating monsters or serial killers or creating otherwise bad
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people. And sometimes they even run the risk of being killed themselves by a vengeful damaged child. Thank God I have
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never had to worry about something like that before. Why? Because I actually truly love my kids and my actions and
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compassion prove that. The Marine Corps taught me to be a leader. So now I am showing my parents positive leadership
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by gently saying, "Hey folks, you seriously need to make an effort to be grandparents for their sake, for the
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24 minutes, 53 seconds
sake of your own legacy and for my own godamn mental health. I need my kids to feel loved and that they matter. They
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are grandparents to my sister's kids who are Caucasian. My kids happen to be a lovely lightly brown color." And so I
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asked my sister, "Hey, why does it seem like our parents like your children but not mine?" I said, "That looks a little
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like racism to me." My sister didn't handle that well. And I don't really blame her because our pop set the bad
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example of never accepting real criticism. I am just trying to put the puzzle of my life together and I am
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calling it as I see it. It looks like racism to me. They seem to like all the other grandchildren in the family except
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mine. That is a horrible thing to do if you ask me. My sister claimed that they have never shown any racist ideology.
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That may be true, but that fact of the matter is that you don't have to show ideology to be discriminatory.
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They are being discriminatory to me and my kids and that it is blatantly unfair,
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unequal, and it is making my mental health condition worse. I thought if I told them I didn't feel loved, they
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would change or try to prove me wrong in some meaningful way that they really do love me. But no, I call my parents
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regularly and try to share normal life things while holding back anything real or painful because Pop commanded me not
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to give my mother distressing news. But they want no regular contact with me. I see that as them just continuing the cycle of neglect and it is killing me.
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Part 13. The demand for justice.
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I've had it and I'm going to do something about it. I'm seriously considering legal action if they just continue the status quo because hey,
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they are not the ones suffering here. I am. And it is a crime in our society to abuse a child to the point where they
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feel like they want to kill themselves their whole life. I feel like they are not and never have taken me seriously.
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I'm not bluffing here. I have mountains of evidence to back this up. I don't care if he is sensitive and don't want
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to hear criticism. It is my life he ruined while he lives a peaceful life.
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Owning two houses while gallivanting on the ski mountain and golfing everyday.
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Hey pop, I like to play golf too. Maybe invite me once.
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He can't do his sacred duty and parent me or spend quality time with me for once. I joined the military partly
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because I recognized I needed leadership and discipline in my life. I don't know yet what legal action might look like.
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It could mean civily suing him for damages for the pain and suffering. But alas, I fear it is feutal and that
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nothing really matters anyways because we are all going to die someday and be completely forgotten. I do know that
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because I don't have much time left, I need to do something. But at the very least, he should know what he's done.
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He must know how much his neglect trashed my life and hurt society at large because I sure could have been
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something meaningful and helpful to others. I still want to be a doctor of psychiatric medicine so I can contribute
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to society and help others navigate this tremendous level of pain and suffering.
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It really is a certain kind of stupid to not even want or care to keep your children alive. It probably would have
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been more convenient for him if I had died years ago. He clearly doesn't think about me. And when he does, I'm sure it
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is not love. I'm seriously about considering some kind of civil action.
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Let me be clear. I do not even care about money. But money is the only way you pay for crimes in this world. I
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value that our society is judged by how we treat the weakest members. We take care of disabled and vulnerable people.
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I can't even get my family to care. At least I have the government and the wonderful Department of Veterans Affairs
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to care for me. But that is a privilege I earned by fighting for our country.
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Maybe I didn't do enough to earn the love and care I deserve from my parents.
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Why don't I give a flying [ __ ] about anything? Maybe because this is what I was taught. And I feel like a fool for
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figuring this out far too late. What a shame. I believed them and I trusted them.
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Part 14. complicity and cognitive distortion.
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My mom visited recently and I explained all this to her clearly and concisely.
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She ensured me that my pop really is a kind man. He just doesn't show it or doesn't know how love and he certainly
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didn't hurt me on purpose. His father was like that, too.
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Well, that isn't a valid excuse in my book for committing crimes against children. Saying, "Oh, I didn't mean to
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do it doesn't cut it. That does not ease my suffering." My mom had me convinced that day that she really does love me,
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and I believe it for a moment. Then I asked about her spending time with my children. She had the nerve to say my
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sister and I are the most important things in the world to her. If that was true, she would love my kids. It feels
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like she is lying to me and that has caused me such cognitive distortion in my life. There doesn't seem to be
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evidence they love me or my children. My mom then asked, "Do your children even want to see us? I for some reason still
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love my mom and I want to spend time with her. I even still love Papa Paul and I crave his attention and I want to
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spend quality time with him. Maybe if he wasn't such a prick, we could even be really good friends.
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I didn't grow up poor, but after I turned 18 years old, I lived for 10 years in abject poverty. I was so hungry
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one time that I had to steal food from a grocery store to stay alive. My children are also poor. What would normal people
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do? If you have money, maybe give the grandkids $50 for a birthday. When my mama says that I'm the most important thing to her, I think that's nice. Well,
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32 minutes
my children are the most important thing to me. My kids are literally the most important thing to me in the world, and I've made many a sacrifice for them.
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What I am not going to do is let anyone abuse my children if I can help it. I made a vow to protect them and never
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make them feel so unloved or scared that they wanted to kill themselves. Part 15. Breaking the cycle.
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My kiddos are incredibly resilient despite my horrible marriage to their mentally ill mother. The big difference
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between my kids and me is my loving honesty. My kids know my personal shortcomings and the reality of their
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lives far more than I ever did at their age. I feel like my parents hid the truth from me, making me think they are
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either dumb or liars. It is abnormal to not love your children or grandchildren.
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I want them to spend time with my kids or at least give them presents. I have great memories of my grandmother. I was
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the sweet pee, the youngest. In some families, the youngest is the most
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loved. In my case, I was not wanted. I think that is what hurts the most. If
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they were normal grandparents, I would forgive them and move on. But I see the same cycle of neglectful, penicious abuse.
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That man's neglected me for the past 37 years. How can you be a complete failure of a parent and then have a perfectly
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happy life? I thought my mom would kick his ass into gear, but instead she condoned it. She made me believe it was normal, then says she loves me. Well,
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that feels like a lie to me. Part 16, leadership and legacy.
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I've tried to show leadership by gently telling them what to do. I'm trying to protect their legacy because my children
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will outlive us all. My children are too young to know they want a grandma, but they want to feel like they matter. But
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my children don't matter to them, and I don't seem to matter either. I finally realized it, but sadly it may be too
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late. My life is already ruined, while theirs is fine. I find it so sad that this 70-year-old man is healthier than I
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am. He will likely outlive me, and I fear it won't bother him one bit when I die. I hope I am wrong about all of
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this. That is one of the purposes of carefully explaining how I feel so that in the hope that they feel moved to
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prove me wrong. If there is a lesson here, if you have the honorable duty of raising children, love and cherish them
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and for the love of God, be careful and don't [ __ ] it up. Because if you screw them up when they grow up and realize
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how you abuse them, they might just come for you. That reaction looks different for different people. For me, it could mean litigation and adjudication.
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At this point, I am not afraid of them anymore. I already feel like they don't like me. What else do I have to lose?
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I'm already dying. I never imagined I would die alone in such suffering with no one caring.
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Part 17. Obsessions and restitution.
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I find my interest in media very curious. I get so much pleasure out of watching child predators get caught in
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35 minutes, 44 seconds
police stings or on TV shows like To Catch a Predator with Chris Hansen. I sometimes watch those all day on
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35 minutes, 51 seconds
YouTube. Why am I so interested in that kind of content? I am also obsessed with the horrors of war, especially World War
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36 minutes
II and the Holocaust. I don't understand how people could survive something like that and still wanted to go on living.
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36 minutes, 9 seconds
I've also never really understood how people own firearms and aren't tempted to use them on themselves. I do not own
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36 minutes, 16 seconds
any because I know that is a major risk factor for me and society discourages people from killing themselves.
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Studies back that up, too. If you have a gun and you're suicidal, your chances of dying go way up. I justified abuse and
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forgave them for too long. It's not your fault I want to die. I used to say sadly, and I hate to say this, but yes,
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it is someone's fault. If I wanted to die before I knew what life was, that is evidence that you [ __ ] up at
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parenting. There has to be some restitution.
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Otherwise, nihilism wins and nothing matters. I had the saddest thought the other day that as humans, we all die
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twice. Once when we stop breathing and again the last time someone remembers us. That's one reason I like doing
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37 minutes, 13 seconds
Holocaust remembrance advocacy because it was the most atrocious evil the world has ever seen. I can't believe normal
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people aren't more outraged about what the Nazis did. Part 18, the biological
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truth and the piano. I gave my mom an easy way out by saying I actually am
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37 minutes, 34 seconds
normal. This is just normal biological psychology.
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As an organism, I got so scared that my brain has been in panic mode my entire life. That is a normal reaction to
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trauma. And yeah, that sure does suck for me because now I have so much wrong with me. I have bipolar disorder and
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37 minutes, 56 seconds
addiction issues because I honestly feel that nobody has ever cared about me.
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Bipolar is deadly without loving support. Bipolar disorder is an extraordinarily cruel and complex
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condition. It lifts people to exhilarating highs during manic episodes only to plunge them into devastating
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lows during depressive phases. These mood swings can impair daily functioning, strain relationships, and
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increase the risk of self harm or suicide.
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I remember 17 years ago after I got back from Afghanistan alive, super traumatized and in a terrible mental
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health crisis. I recall screaming at my pop. All I want to do is play the piano.
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Did my pop have any compassion for me whatsoever?
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No, of course not. He just told me to grow up and get a job. The really sad
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part was that he owned his own business and easily could have helped me by giving me a job. That's what real fathers do for their sons.
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The final plea.
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All right. So, as you know, I love the piano and I've been working on piano sheet music for the better part of 15
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years now. And I amassing a massive collection of piano sheet music, like a
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39 minutes, 24 seconds
lot a lot. I've got well over a 100 actual piano sheet music books, which is probably more than a thousand songs. And
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39 minutes, 32 seconds
I really like working with print sheet music, and I print my own. And now I have thousands and thousands of pages of
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39 minutes, 39 seconds
it. My plea is before I die or after, I just want my piano sheet music collection to go somewhere where it's
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39 minutes, 47 seconds
appreciated. Maybe a senior center that has a piano or somewhere like an orphanage for poor children that has a
39:54
39 minutes, 54 seconds
piano. This is invaluable stuff here. Of course, I still make piano sheet music videos, and that's a gift in a different
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way, but this is a physical thing. and printed sheet music on paper is just the best for sight reading while sitting at
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40 minutes, 9 seconds
a piano. I hope someone someday gets to have it because I don't have the privilege of having anyone to give it
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40 minutes, 17 seconds
to. You know, the whole dying alone thing sucks.
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All right. Well, that was bloody exhausting. Go [ __ ] off.