Off The Record

"He's well hung, and I am hanging on"

After spending two weeks in this hell hole, I finally figured out how to use the internet again. Five years ago the world wide web was a primative piece of crap compared to the way it is today. Mind you, if Adam hadn't been such a little prick about me using "his" computer, I would have had this cased a week and a half ago.

I hate fifteen yearold shitheads. All he's done since I got here is bitch and moan about having to share a room with me, and he keeps telling me how happy our family was when my "faggot ass" wasn't around. I swear to God if I wasn't on perole, I'd kick the shit out of him. Make him cry like the little whiny bitch that he is.

I know right now I must sound like an ungrateful bastard, but you'd understand if I explained my existance to you. You'd get why I hate my parents, why I wish my brother dead, and you'd understand why I'd much rather be back on the streets again than here with them.

That sounds crazy right? Why would a person choose poverty over a roof above their head, food in their stomach, clean clothes and a bed? Well, it's honestly none of your fucking business, but this community is supposed to be about me trying to make new friends and talk about my "feelings" or whatever bullshit, so I guess I can give you a few details.

When I was thirteen, my Dad caught me making out with my boyfriend in our basement. He freaked out, beat the shit out of me and then gave me two choices: one- change who I was, or two- leave. I chose to leave. So, he and my Mother sent me to live at a place called Grace Baptist Halfway House. Supposedly it's a place that can cure the gay out of you. All it did was cause me to run away after a month of being there.

So, for the past five years I've been living on the streets; running from the cops and childrens services and trying to keep myself alive.

And that's all I'm going to say on the subject. No one wants to read about the shit I dealt with, or what I've had to do to survive. It's all miserable crap that right now I'd rather choose to forget than rehash here. However, I'd still choose that life over this one.

On my own I was at the very least, free. No one controlled me or made me try to be someone I'm not. No one made me hide or feel ashamed of who I was. I cherished those things when I had them, and now I find myself craving them.

I mean... the first thing my bastard father said to me when he saw me again was "Dont even try any of that faggot garbage again. If you live with us (and you dont have a choice), you are to be normal." Normal. I'm a freak in my father's eyes. Asshole.

I was half tempted to go out and find a Trick and bring him home and fuck him raw on my parents' couch. Would have loved to have seen the look on my mother's face when she saw the giz stains on her suade furniture. Maybe I'll have to try that someday... seeing as by the look of things I'm stuck where I am for a while at least.

Jesus Christ. Adam just walked in and has started his bitching about me using his computer again. I am too tired to fight his bullshit, so I guess this is where I end this.

Maybe the deep and meaningful will find its way out of me next time. Dont count on it.

~Jordan McKay

[e-mail]
[e-mail]