As I stated in my introduction I have been suffering from a deep depression for almost 10 years now. You can view this writing as a sort of autobiography. As much as I want to pretend my case is unique and individualistic to just myself I know better then that. Alas that is where my problems begin. What I feel and I know are leagues apart. I try to think with both my heart and my head. Logic v Emotion if you will. It's such a strange feeling to encounter. As much as I want to cry my logic dictates I have nothing to cry over. It states simply you are alive thus you can't complain. You are fed and have a roof over your head, thus you can not complain. However my hierarchy of needs demands the next step. Love, sense of belonging. I believe that in everyone’s lives they have the hardest part here. Some people reach this earlier then others. For me it was at 10. What kid doesn't want to be accepted? This is where my troubles started. I was never given a childhood. My Mom fell to severe handicapping illnesses. MS, diabetes, osteopenia, and Sjögren’s syndrome. She also has no depth perception and has parts of her brain breaking down and being destroyed. So having been a mere 6 years old when her problems started I was left in the care of TV. Now me being the curios child I was ventured and viewed other channels instead of the pure and clean nickelodeon to HBO and Fox. Here I was a 6 year old watching Tales from the Crypt, Simpson's, Married with Children, and playing Mortal Kombat. As if that weren't enough I grew up in the slums of the area. Murder, rape, and drugs all around. We finally decided to move when our next door neighbors were killed and I was almost shot. Of course I have no real memories of events. I myself lack all memory of my own life. Though for some odd reason every painful and heart tearing vision of my life plays over and over again without fading. So as I try to remember the good times only a sense of sorrow comes from my toils. Now from what I've been told that my early childhood I'm better off not remembering. I am the living dead. By all doctors accounts I should be dead. I survived being a baby with no immunity. My immune system didn't kick in for awhile. My parents were told to be prepared for my death. I lived. I was beaten and tortured by my Pre-school teacher. I was tied up and placed in the swing for hours on end unable to move or get away. I survived. I fell down a flight of concrete stairs. I persevered. A glass cabinet fell on my and cut me up and almost took my eye. I fought on. No matter what physical cruelty was brought to me on soldiered on. This was fulfilling my natural instincts and took care of my initial steps on the hierarchy of needs. Once I moved they were done. I had food and security. Now was the time to begin the next step. Belonging. To this day I still am working on it. My mind warped with betrayal and hate reasoned I needed no one. The only one I needed to help and look out for was I. I had grown up on DTA (Don't Trust Anyone). So when moving I was hesitant of my surroundings. I entered the suburbs. Peace, not violence, was what visited me every morning. I and the other kids had nothing in common. As such I spent my days alone. In a school of 300 if you become disliked by your own class it’s not hard to get the other classes to not like you either. All the while my "Logic" kept telling me it was all acceptable. My heart couldn't bear it though. It sealed itself up my "Logic" took over. I treat those two as the other I's. Logic whom I call Robert, Bobby the Heart, and I am Rob. Robert is the darkness in me. To combat the isolation Robert made mind games to hurt the other kids. He turned best friends into enemies and made people cry so much. Not to mention those who attack us (the body) were met with lethal force. He chocked and beat the other kids up. But never without a real reason. If the body wasn't in life threatening danger we took the beating. However if someone else needed help Robert saw it as a chance to manipulate more people by saving him. This was all still in the 3rd grade and I was diagnosed with a learning disability. I couldn't read at age 8. Then something happened. I discovered our psychological abilities. We began being able to read. We went from simple short stories to reading Tolstoy in less then 4 months. My mind kicked into overdrive as I consumed vast amounts of esoteric knowledge. We began being able to read people like it was nothing. Out of us all Robert is the best while Bobby is the worst at it. Robert is the best at everything. He is always perfect at everything he does. His only fault is his twisted personality. Equipped with this ability I somehow made it through to the 8th grade. Robert's blood lust had turned to a cool seething hatred and loathing. Bobby had endured and only cried from time to time. I myself was lost. I had no friends. I wasn't hated anymore (out of fear or reverence of Robert's ability I do not know). I had earned respect from the intellectuals though. At age 13 I didn't really understand the word love. I still hadn't even belonged yet. I was a loner. Going into high school I slacked off as only 1/5 of my mind was required to get almost all A's and B's. I am the Architect of my own Misery. I call it that. It's based on the phrase "We are the Master's of our own Destiny". By slacking my mind decided to do some introspection. I was depressed by being so alone. I was suffering from no one caring about me. Then when I looked inside myself what I saw would drive me to my first suicide attempt. I kid you not when I say that Robert is a monster. In his search for more knowledge to perfect his reading of people we were forced to watch many things. Snuff films and police photos. Corpses and suicide victims. If anyone has heard of Ogrish.com back in its more infamous days you understand. My mind was torn. I suddenly felt I had done these things. I was capable of doing it. More so then that Robert wanted to do it. Thus began my true self-hatred and loathing. This coupled with the fact I had made no friends in High School and was still the victim of isolation and hate I was further depressed. My parents of course didn't care. As they so nicely stated to me, the only reason I exist is because they are Catholic and wouldn't get an abortion. My sister hated me because I was so different from everyone else and she got made fun of because she was related to me. All the while I had to keep Robert at bay so he wouldn't hurt or kill anyone (by age 14 I could have been charged with 5 counts of attempted murder). So people began hitting me. I was hit by everyone. During this time the one thing that kept me safe in my mind was Martial Arts. However after getting into a bike accident that took half my face and tore huge amounts of my flesh off and broke my arm. I was left bedridden for months. During that time my mind was constantly second guessing itself. Robert, Bobby and I argued constantly during that time. We fought and fought over things. After finally going back to school I had hoped for a new start and was left to my solitude again. Finally after 5 years of depression I couldn't do it anymore. I tried hanging myself. Thankfully no off the places I tried could hold my weight and the rope would break or the beam would come loose. Nothing really happened to me for awhile. I just kept working as a waiter, which I had been doing since I was 14. I had finally come out of my shell. I stayed in my room for a long time afraid of people and what they might do to me ore what "I" might do to them. All the while I suffered panic attacks which left me paralyzed and unable to cope. I only began to realize that what I was feeling was not normal. It would be until age 18 that I knew I was Bipolar. Bobby pointed it out while we were listening to Piano Pathetique that we had surges of energy and we would from time to time go into a manic state and be ultra creative and write amazing pieces of literature and poetry. Age 17. The second time I attempted suicide. I had been rejected by 3 girls whom I cared ever so deeply for. That is when the despair consumed my. I already didn't have any hopes or goals for the future. Just a simple dream. To marry and be with my wife till death to us part. Oh such a sweet and tender love I longed for. A time when ones heart beats with another's in perfect harmony. An illogical statement by any means. With nothing to hope for and the fear of a lifetime of loneliness I chose to drop the curtain on the story that was my life. I was about to shoot myself right in the temple. I still have never forgotten that feeling of the cold metal placed right upon my forehead. THAT was surely the cold hand of Death upon my face and not the barrel of a .357 revolver. What fear that was! My mind raced, paced, and burned with the will to live. I had taken on Robert's habit of not doing things unless it served multiple purposes. So this failed suicide of course had many reasons for it. I had written a list. 1) I am unloved and unwanted by everyone in my life 2) I have no hope or goals for the future 3) I have a monster inside of me that one day may hurt someone 4) My mother suffers from illnesses that I may one day be diagnosed with 5) I suffer from Severe Chronic Atypical Migraines 6) I only continue on because I know nothing else 7) My self-loathing/self-hatred. Now the migraines. I suffer terrible ones. When they get to a 10 in pain, nothing short of 2 full doses of morphine can help me. My BP jumps over 200 and my HR goes to over 190. I will suffer them for the rest of my life. So to this day I still have those reasons. I'm turning 20 now this year. I am still single and alone. With no one to care of help me I wander on in search of compassion. As such I am the most caring and kindest person you will meet. I have saved quite a few people from dying. I am always there for people who need help. However they are never there for me. When they are finished they abandon me. I used to make a joke to Robert; Even gay guys don't like me there must be something wrong with me. Even though I am alone, people still do respect me and some thank me for helping them find happiness and being there in their darkest hour. Whether it is suicide or accident I have saved 8 lives. But I will always wonder: Who will be the one to save me before it's too late? To those who read this I must thank you for your time. I'll be writing a few more things on specific topics. This piece is subject to change as I reread it and fix parts of it or just delete entire sentences. Any feedback or comments would be greatly appreciated.