Dear MGTOW Redditors,

First of all, this is going to be long as fuck. I'm getting really stoned and listening to 90's R&B. I need to get this out, and let you know how this community has helped me to change my life for the better.

I found this Reddit after having an absolutely mindblowing encounter with my mother and sinking into a bewildering depression, and subsequent improvement.

I guess I will start by stating I am a 33-year-old African American male who grew up fatherless in a very small agriculture town in southern Florida.

One year ago I discovered through Facebook ( I no longer have an account there), that I had siblings of whom I had no knowledge.

I grew up in a community full of single mothers and it was complete and utter hell. I must've heard the following on a daily basis:

"I don't need no man" "I'm da mama and da daddy!" "Happy Father's Day to me!" "I raised him without a man." I ain't have no help from nobody." "When ya'll turn 18, ya'll

Most of these women were exactly the sort of women you expect to find living in government sponsored slums; shiftless, irresponsible, conniving, dirty, excuse-making cunts.

Also a heads up to any young black men.....Black women don't give two shits about you. They pretend to because women like to virtue signal and black women doubly so because they are BLACK and WOMEN, and thus, possess higher levels of DFES (Dumb Fuck Entitlement Syndrome).

Black Single Mothers and Uncle Sam are the reasons life sucks so much for black males.

In my mind at least, the government pretty much steals the resources and gives it to a philandering psycho to spend about town getting her nails done, drinking wines coolers, fucking athletic young boys, and passing her kids off the family members who actually give two fucks about the children.

My mother had three children from three different men and we were all spaced out 10 years. I only found out within the last year that this was mainly because of income, primarily through tax returns.

I'm fucking ripped so pardon my incorrect use of punctuation or grammar.

Anyways, I've found it all to be a racket and noticed the same behavior when I was in the military as well. Which leads me to believe that despite the varying circumstances in the scenarios presented above, a specific principle is at play and it is this:

"Incentivizing bad behavior leads to more bad behavior. If you pay someone for having children, they will have some for money."

This conclusion above is completely obvious to me now, but the Red Pill has a funny way of giving you a throat-wrenching bitter aftertaste that lingers like barf in the back of your throat after a night of hard drinking and eating cottage cheese.

In the small community where I was raised, the girls are trained from a young age how to manipulate men and ask for money very early in life. These girls have a framework for how to deal with the opposite sex that we black boys didn't get to have.

I remember being 8 years old and being told to hold doors open, be a nice guy, defer to the woman always, and in general, forget I have a right to exist on this planet and die for the sake of making a vagina happy.

What a bad deal.

I have two other siblings on my mother's side, an older brother, and a younger sister. My brother is ten years my senior and we'll call him Peter. My sister is 8 years my junior, and we'll call her Taneequa because her real name is just as silly and completely made up.

As an aside, dear parents, the name you give your child matters. Making up a bullshit names is lame and I've seen literally two ghetto bitches sit down, smoke weed, drink Schlitz, and bounce around a combination letters to get a name.

The names are completely made up and based on the erroneous mythology that blacks were some kingly people back in the day in The Mother Land one thousand years ago, rabble rabble snarf snarf, yada-fucking-yada.

I get so angry when I recall the times I had to hear these dumb fucks lecture me about how the needs of my people have to come first. How I need to put them first and remember, that I'm BLACK AND OH SO FUCKING SPECIAL.

FUCK YOU MOTHERFUCKERS! I OWN MYSELF I DON'T GIVE TWO FUCKS ABOUT YOUR GODDAMN TRIBALISM! I HAD NO SAY IN MY COLOR SO STOP LUMPING ME IN WITH YOUR INSECURE CAUSES!

[Takes a 4 min toke break]

Sorry I was getting worked up. It's just infuriating to recall being finagled into wearing colorful African themed vests, baggy pants, and this retarded islamic Kufi hat once a month for 3 years. All so my caretakers could virtue signal the great job they're doing raising fatherless boys who learn about sex in the streets, and mainly with other men. Which perfectly explains the STD rates in those communities.

Great job girls. Let me clap my fucking hands and adjust my monocle. Uncle Sam lied to you for a vote, and you're perfectly content to trash your males for cash and prizes, then complain that you can't find a good man. Go fuck yourselves btw since I have lost any interest in wanting anything to do with you bitches past you patronizing my business and sucking my dick once in a blue moon.

"Demonstrate your pride in your people" they would say.

Proud of fucking what? Seeing some of you dumb fucks stealing Cheetos during a riot and walking around with your pants down?

Get the fuck outta here.

I was not going to go off on a tangent, and we will get back to names in a second, but that statement of demonstrating pride is absolutely rich coming from a culture of graft, crime, low-IQ, and murderous psychopathy as a result of Black Women getting in bed with Uncle Sam.

YOU DUMB CUNTS FELL FOR THE GOVERNMENT RUSE. TRUE WEALTH IS CREATED AND NOT CONFISCATED. YOU ARE DESTROYING YOUR RACE AND I AM WALKING AWAY.

Many of us are never, ever coming back. Us Blacks were the canary in the coal mine of a phenomenon that cannot be reversed. Men Going Their Own Way.

Anyways. We were speaking of baby names right?

Despite the creativity of the dindu persuasion, there are rules for naming black baby girls in the hood and to a lesser extent, male names. For one, it has to be at least three syllables, preferably five. The longer it is, the more stupider, and thus in the low IQ rationale of a baseless porch monkey, it's more betterer. Clearly.

Despite the liberty with which these whores may choose a name for the kids they don't care about, there is a lexicon of prefixes and suffixes that my brethren love to adhere to when playing anti-intellectual Scrabble with the fate of their children's lifetime verbal identifiers. Think of the children.

Here are common Dindu prefixes for females, and in many cases, males as well.

  1. La-

  2. Ta-

  3. Rae- or any of its variants, Ray, Raye, etc..

  4. Sha-. This one is biggly yuge in the black community. As a prefix AND a suffix. The amount of Shaquishas I know IRL is fucking sad. These parents are bonafide retards and they're likely too stupid to notice the heat in hell. Toasty.

  5. Bo-. Sounds crazy, but derivatives of the name Boneshia, i.e., Bonesha, Bonquitia, have been witnessed first hand by the author. As an aside, I notice just how stupid they are now that I type this. Poor girls and their mentally deficient SBM's (Single Black Moms).

As far as suffixes go:

  1. Quita, quitia, quisha, quanda. These compose the greatest amount of usage when mixing and matching prefix tile pieces to choose a name for social points.

For males, what's often done is a normal name will be taken such as Darius, Marcus, Donald, or Henry for instance, and then add on some stuff. Like LaMarcus, or Ladarius, or Ladanian. The guys end up coming out okay because the names sound Roman in the end. I knew a guy with a name not far removed from Ladarius Tiberius Xavier. Not bad. He was a dumb fuck and is dead now, but cool name all the same.

There are other names that are very popular. The names of luxury cars is (ironically) a big one with this class of people who commit income tax fraud to buy them while their kids flunk out of school.

Mercedes, Lexus, Alexus are popular.

Names that communicate royalty are the absolute worst offenders in producing worthless fucks who aren't taught to work for it, as any black girl with the name "Princess" is a walking, warning train horn. These women have been some of the loudest, most insufferable, violent misfits I have ever had the displeasure of knowing.

So yeah. My sister is younger than me with a dumb name is what I'm trying to say.

Unfortunately, our household was violent and verbally abusive. My oldest brother moved out when I was 7 years old. He might have been 16 when he left and my mother began to speak so poorly of him.

My mother fought with everyone and this was when I started hearing about how worthless men are. It wasn't just from my mother. It was in the school system in my community, which was populated with other single mothers, that made my entire government school career intensely unproductive.

I did not in fact graduate and had to take a GED test to get into the military. I flunked my way through school and it was a cool male math teacher who faked my test score and passed me so I could leave for the military.

What brought all this to ahead was that up until 18 months ago, I had no idea who my father was or that I had siblings were.

As Biggie Smalls would say, "It was all a dream."

The date everything changed for me was June 23rd. It was 1:30 in the morning and I was going to be meeting my siblings and Father on the following 4th of July holiday. I jumped up in bed after having a dream. Now it made sense. Before I get into the dream, a little background may be in order concerning the events leading up to my having the Red Pill shoved down my throat.

I had just come back from seeing my mother for her birthday, and as usual, she was demanding, manipulative, condescending, and infantilizing. I had turned 32 and had a panic attack almost three months to the date I was visiting. It occurred to me that I could have health issues on that side of my family. So in March, I reached out to an aunt whose name I recalled from a conversation my older brother and I had on the road when I was 22 and we attended the funeral of a close cousin who passed in a car accident. He said my Father was close-by. That he had always only been an hour away from me my entire life.

I shut it out of my mind. I didn't like either one of them, but he was worse in my mind. I had been brainwashed into thinking she loved me, but that was not the case, as I would come to accept in shocking fashion.

So I reached out to this Aunt trying to find my Father. One week went by, two weeks go by. One month passes. No response.

"Maybe this was a bad idea," I would say out loud, "If he hasn't contacted me now, what the fuck's the use?"

For the entire month of March, I heard nothing. Right around the last week, I mentioned to my mother that I had contacted an Aunt, and her demeanor transformed right in front of me.

She was mixing the batter for a cake (she is an exceptional cook), and I recall her dropping the faded spatula into the bowl as she stared in absolute horror at my face.

-Splat-

"Well what you do that for? she says. Her glasses sitting frail on her weathered face. My mother was beautiful until her mid 40's and even today, the sadness of her faded beauty has turned her into a narcissistic monster. She is obsessed with posting on Instagram and Facebook.

I reply, "Well," I put my phone face down on the counter, "I'm getting older and if I have health issues that could come up, it would be helpful to know."

She was completely not impressed with my answer. That night I drove to Walmart and she stocked my fridge for a month. She seemed extra lovey-dovey and I was confused, to say the least.

As I'm on the four-hour trip driving back home, I start getting blasted with message notification on Facebook. I have a tradition of stopping near Lake Placid to smoke a blunt on this hill overlooking the lake. I grabbed a bunch of 99 cent sandwiches from Wendy's and found a spot and gutted my cigar.

As I'm filling my Dutchmaster with some herb, my phone keeps dinging. "I'm popular today," I say, "Hmmph."

I get all rolled up. I have napkins, my phone is charged, and those crispy chicken sandwiches have my mouth watering.

I open the Facebook app I have over 23 notifications of my mother mass posting how much she loved me and what a great son I was. I only ever got berated and insulted by her, so this was shocking as I always had the suspicion that she didn't like any of her children. None of us cared particularly for her and it was only the guilt she would foist on us that we even every showed up.

I thought that was actually normal for years. Wow.

Things started to take a definite turn for the strange on April 10th. That was the day I was in contact with my sister and brother of whom I had no knowledge. It was also National Siblings Day.

We added each other that day and I spoke n the phone with my sister for what had to be three hours. She is a complete blessing and far preferred to the sister on my mother's side. She was the sister I wish I could've had. She decided to make a post of Siblings Day with us included. It was a sweet gesture and made me feel loved.

Then my mother got on the post and started making extremely hostile comments. She loves attention. What better way to help your son celebrate the chance to have love in his life, than by embarrassing him in public.

The posts went something like this after the pic was posted.

Cool sister: Happy Siblings Day! Aunt I never met: So nice to make your acquaintance. Mother: I don't where ya'll hoes coming from all of a sudden. This MY SON and I'm not sharing. Me: WTF

My mother then proceeded to hijack every post I would make with like on ANY comment I made. Even in posts that would have nothing to do with her, she would slip in, "I love you!"

I'm talking ten posts a day on my profile, just saying "I love you." Completely neurotic. It got so bad that people would search for me for business purposes, and they had no idea what I looked like since my mother tagged me in EVERYTHING, and thus those pictures popped up.

I knew a shitstorm was coming when I removed her comments and asked her to behave on my page as I had a couple of people wanting to partner up for projects on business, and it was hurting my chances by appearing to be controlled by my mother. Which I was.

She could give two fucks. Her son was having some success in business and now was her time to shine as the parent who raised ALONE, a successful black man. The lapel for her self-righteous robe would not be denied.

She had the nerve to comment on a post I was cleaning up that she has this under control. That she would do what she wanted.

I was flabbergasted. She didn't give two fucks about my future. She didn't like me at all past the status I brought to her. She was obsessed with attention so much that she didn't care who got their lives destroyed while she was making an insignificant point.

When I relayed to her, with great enthusiasm, that I had spoken to my siblings on the Father's side, she was despondent and laconic in her responses. As one can imagine, she trashed my Father at every turn and she asked me what my siblings were like. When I began to communicate that I found them pretty cool, she instantly got insulted, hurt, and changed the conversation.

The month of May was the most stressed I must've ever seen her. I spoke to my mother 3 times a week and had spoken to my Father almost every day that month. He never said a bad thing about her, but she acted like an absolute cunt hurling insults at him, oblivious to the fact that by insulting him, she was insulting me, since I came from them both.

I was June 1st, I spoke to my Father and he mentioned that my younger kid brother (who is in the Army), would be in the States for the 4th weekend and it would be a good time to all meet. I kept the knowledge a secret from my mother and only told her when I visited again mid-June. That would be the last time I saw or heard from my mother.

It was a 4-hour drive like any other, with the exception that I was going to tell her that I couldn't do the 4th weekend with her that year as I was heading to Miami. I got there on a Thursday night and on that Sunday afternoon, three hours before I was to depart, I casually mentioned that I was going to be meeting my father and siblings.

She stares at me in total silence and drops her head down. Then she said the craziest thing.

"They gone steal you from me." She thought she owned me. She saw me as an object for the acquisition of her desires.

I looked at her and wondered seriously if women were actual humans. That was a first.

The neurotic tagging went on in Facebook until that fateful day.

[-Trigger Warning- The following is not for the faint of heart. Violent abuse is real for males in environments dominated by females who take no agency for their decisions, in concert with a government who applies different standards of justice based on your genitalia. Dat equality.]

June 23rd, 2016.

It was 1:30 in the morning and I had just woke up from a dream. I bolted up. I would describe the feeling to friends as, "Imagine 20 years of shit. Now have it slam into you in about 20 seconds."

Thier eyes got big too so you're not alone.

Despite the dream, the event happened. I had to be around ten years of age when it occurred. I remember getting spanked and all of a sudden my mother told me to go to the bathroom.

I went into the bathroom and she pushed me hard into the toilet and started screaming at me. It was a very hard push. My heart began to race. Tonight was going to be particularly brutal.

"I'm so tired of yo shit!" "Why can't you just do as I ask?!?" "Just like yo damn daddy."

I was so confused. There had been another man in my life who was good to me and bought me gifts for Xmas. We can call him Will. I had to be 15 years old before I knew he wasn't my Father.

Then she came closer. I could smell the scent of greens on her. She closed the door. Other people in the apartment had to hear. When you look back years later, you realize you were that kid getting the shit beat out of you and everyone knew it.

In a first, she balled up her fists and started wailing on me. My face began to get very hot. My blood was racing. I wanted to fight back but I knew my brother would come after me. Even though she treated him like shit, he was anxious for her affection and would do anything she wanted.

She kept all of her children in competition with each other. Vying for affection that was only provided to get more attention for herself. She was insatiable. You were never good enough. SHe would never say sorry, and she was never wrong.

She started punching me and screaming. "You just like you damn daddy! I'm tired of yo shit Jake!" "Jake? Whose Jake Ma?" I said trying to stand up.

She shoved me so hard back onto the toilet that I completely shattered the porcelain duck located on top of the toilet. I experienced the sharp pain of what felt like glass against my upper back. Then there was the warm, viscous sensation of my shirt being stuck to my skin by more than the sweat of terror.

"I'm tired of yo shit Jake! Why can't you just do what I tell you!" she is hysterical and grabs me by the neck and shoves me down onto the floor.

She begins to choke me while telling me she should've gotten another baby at the hospital.

"I'm so tired of you making me look like a bad mother in the neighborhood!"

"I brought you into this world, I can take you out nigga!"

"You lucky I don't kill yo ass!"

I try to get her hands off my neck. Her eyes turn black. I don't see a person anymore. I see what Jordan Peterson describes as, "Medusa" I encounter the Negative Feminine. I never see an angel nor do I think they exist. Awalt. The screaming continues.

"You tryna fight mE?!" she says as a flurry of punches collides into my ten-year-old face. It reminds me of when you take Jet in Fallout 4 and everything slows down. Instead of a Legendary Deathclaw trying to bodyslam me, my own mother was performing a special melee attack in V.A.T.S. I was the target.

Despite my being so flippant about it. I feel my heart race in my chest as I type this.

I couldn't breathe and I tried to tell her. She only said, "So?" I try again to remove her hands and then...

She grabbed me by the neck, lifted my head a solid 8 inches off the floor right before she reversed the momentum downward, I recall her saying...

"Don't fight me." as she slammed my head into the concrete.

A loud thump. My frame of vision jars. Things moving fast. They slow down. I was going to die. There was no God. No one would save me. I would lose my life or mental faculties for just bad luck.

Dying didn't seem scary. I tried to think of before I was born, and concluded death must be a lot like that. I didn't mind that there was no savior. I didn't mind that no one knew and/or couldn't get involved.

I only knew I had dreams and there were many things I wanted to do for my mother and that I would die but it was okay because that's what happens. You're a boy. You don't matter. Men are bad m'Kay

I'm not sure how long before I got up, but the bathroom was a mess. My face felt like it was on fire. There was shattered porcelain everywhere.

I slowly, and painfully sat up and instantly knew I would have a mess to clean up. It sounded a lot like taking off duct tape on a smooth surface. I had a cut on my back and that sound was the semi-dry blood stuck to my shirt.

I stood up shakily and looked at my self in the mirror. I had some welts on my face and my lip was busted. I could explain away the lip at school. It was a small town so I had a couple days before anyone knew what a beating I had gotten.

I opened the door and sniffed the air for her scent. It's a combination of bleach and collard greens almost. Her door was closed but the T.V. was off. My mother wasn't home. She was deathly afraid of silence and didn't sleep without the T.V. being on.

I went into the kitchen and looked under the sink to grab some cleaning supplies. I grabbed a bucket with some water, a sponge, and some 409. I started to cry as I noticed a thick slick blotch of blood mixed into the lightweight and fuzzy toilet mat. My head had been there.

I put my hand behind my head and felt the back of my skull. The blood was drying, so it was bad. but I would have to shower. I tried to rinse off the back of my head in the sink.

The smell of rust filled my nostrils as the aerated water mixed with my blood and swirled down the sink. I grabbed Neosporin and a piece of toilet paper and kinda just stuck it onto my head as I cleaned up. I would have to be quick or she would get mad.

I instinctively knew I was grounded. So after my shower, I retreated to my room and lay in bed. My head was fucking throbbing. It must've been 8:30 pm when I heard the door open.

My heart turned to ice. Fuck, My ENTIRE body turned into ice. I'm not sure when I passed out, but it was after 10:30pm when she opened my door holding a huge, sharp knife in the backhand position.

I will never forget the words she spoke to me as I looked at her.

"I love you, but I don't like you. I only feed you so people don't think Imma bad momma," She flips and points the knife at me, "don't get it fucked up. You better hope I don't come in here and kill you."

I stayed up all night. I wondered how many other people suffered for having a crazy Mother or Father. You wonder how people you call family will lie and deceive you. Despite the pain, a thought kept coming back to me,

"Whose Jake?"

Jake is the name of my biological Father. She was calling me his name the entire time she was assaulting me. Now it made sense.

I'm extremely creative and love music. I've played piano since I was 11 and am self-taught. I love architecture and used to draw building and cityscapes all the time. I've given concerts at events and been in the newspaper a couple of times in high school. I was a very talented musician. My mother always thought it was useless and now I know why.

My father, Jake, is extremely creative. I always felt so alone and like a black sheep. It was then I understood why my mother didn't want me to meet my Father. She knew I would leave her. She knew I would know that she was the crazy one, not I. She would lose her status as the mother of a bright, talented, black male. A prize in a community known for abject thuggery and senseless death. She would also lose money from claiming me on an income tax return. I was her property.

I had not gotten the confirmation, but I had the sneaking suspicion that my biological Father wanted to be in my life, but she denied him. I would find this information out later on after I had gone to meet them. We will get to that part later, however.

I stayed up in bed until around 3:00 am. I was in complete shock. All of the questions I had wondered about for so many years. To this day my mother has never heard me play the piano. This is despite getting into an arts program with a Julliard professor. I reminded her of my Father and she hated him. She hated me.

The beatings continued, but the pinnacle of the abuse came when I was 7th grade. It was test time and as usual, girls could do what they wanted with impunity. There was a girl named Isabella who was the child of migrant workers. She wore these silly large hoop earrings. Imagine the paintings of Latinas on Mexican lowriders or the dumb hoops ghetto black bitch wear. She had an attitude just like the teacher.

Isabella grabbed my pencil and I asked for it back. The teacher, we can call her Mrs. Cuntycakes, looks at me and tells me to be quiet. I pipe down and we are asked to pull out our pencils. I had one that was sharpened and one that was unsharpened. I try to tell Cuntycakes that Isabella has my pencil, and she says, "I'll get your pencil back. Go and sharpen that one and hurry up because you're holding up the class."

I ask her "Why can't I have my pencil as its right there?" Silence in the class. "OH you wanna be difficult? Imma talk to yo mamma." she says with threatening finality.

One of the students says laughingly, "Ohh you ain't gone be able to sit down tomorrow boy!" Cuntycakes shoots her a look of death and she shrinks in her seat. Meek as a hamster in front of a wolf.

I got out of middle school at 4 pm and I could walk home in 20 minutes. It was 5 pm when an unfamiliar car pulled up to the apartment we lived in. Sure enough, Madam Cuntycakes got out.

It was then that I found out that my mother and Cuntycakes were old chums in school. Fucking great. The Judge and Prosecution on the same side. My friends are outside and we are talking. My mom motions to come over, and with no warning, pimpslaps me in front of the teacher and my friends. In broad daylight. Truth be told, I was more shocked the fact that she did it in public.

She tells me to go upstairs and a few hours later she comes in doesn't lay a hand on me. She says, "All you care about is music. I'm show yo ass."

She goes over to my 61 key Casio I paid for with my own money, and flips it over off of the stand onto the floor. Se takes all of my classical sheet music and rips it up. All of my Cd's and cassettes and begins to smash them.

I sink down to my knees in tears. What had I done to make her hate me so?

I became very reclusive, anti-social, and addicting to gaining her approval. We fought all the time, but the few times when I was on the brink of cutting my wrists, she knew and came and acted sweetly for a couple of days. The abuse would always start again.

It wasn't until I was 17 years of age, and enlisted in the Navy that her demeanor changed. I found out at the small corner store owned by a Jamaican family that my mother had been gushing about how proud of me she was.

I found this highly confusing as she had always wanted me gone. When I was setting up a million dollar life insurance policy and wanted to give $100,000 to a friend who had been like a sister to me, my mother balked like 14-year-old girl. I later found out she took out a huge policy on me when I was deployed the first time.

I have often thought that she wanted me to die so she could get a payout. I think she prefers to the payout to her children to be honest.

I spent 4 years in the military and I even decided to stay on east coast to forge a relationship we never had. Despite the abuse, I had somehow forgotten. Which is unbelievable to forget murderous abuse.

That morning when I re-woke up at 8 I decided to call my mother. She must've known something was up because she weakly answered, "Hello." "Hello, Ma. I will keep this brief. The knowledge has gotten back to me that you've been less than honest about my Father's willingness to be in my life."

My mother is a loud-mouthed bitch. NEVER had I heard her at a loss for words. I waited several awkward seconds for her to speak. Nothing being said, I continued robotically, "I just wanted to you to know I am very disappointed in you I am and that WE WILL be having a conversation later when I get off of work. I will talk to you later."

I wait for her to say something. Silence. I hang up and put my phone on silent and go in the shower as I had to work in a couple hours. I come back to a missed call and a voicemail.

Then two long messages. To this day, I haven't been able to check the voicemail, but there it sits. I think about playing it and deleting it somedays, but I don't know what I'm waiting on.

I will grab my cell phone and list the replies I got back. This is meant to impress upon young men that the majority of women will take no agency for their actions. They don't apologize sincerely and only regret being caught.

I'm gonna put on Scriabin's Fantasy in B minor while I type this. Goddamn what an emotional roller coasters today. Holy fuck.

Here's the last thing I heard from my mother. Through text.

"I was coming out of the shower and only heard part of your message, but if you feel that I lied to you about anything having to do with your Father and no longer accept me as your Mom there is nothing I can do about it. I love you as there was no reason to lie about anything. I now understand my biggest fears are coming true. UNDERSTAND THIS: I AM YOUR MOTHER AND THAT WILL NEVER CHANGE NO MATTER WHAT. SORRY YOU FEEL THAT WAY. BELEIVE WHAT YOU MAY. ENJOY THE REST OF YOUR DAYS."

My reply, "You've always acted this way. When you get upset, only your feelings matter. My father refused to say a bad word about you and has told me nothing. All of the information I've received I've gotten from others who grew up around me all my life.

I have a deduction out of my business to pay you back what I owe you. All the best and I'm not at all surprised that you consider me so little that you refuse to even concede responsibility for anything.

I'm so sorry someone hurt you long ago. It's obvious that the only person you have ever cared about is yourself. All my life I never felt good enough. I won't die with hate in my heart for the one who hurt me. I forgave you a long time ago, even though you lost me as a son 20 years ago when you were smashing my head against a concrete floor and told me that, "the only reason I feed you is so that people don't think I'm a bad Mom.

This is your cross to bear. I hope the God you pray to doesn't mind the way you evade reality. I hope not to occupy a heaven with the likes of one such as you. I wish you the best, even tho I see now I was always secondary to your ego.

-Your son.

I ended up going to meet my Father and had a great time. I made the decision a few months later to only deal with the siblings and have not spoken to either one of my parents in over a year.

I called it off when I discovered something horrifying. I mentioned earlier in the story I had a cousin who passed away. I just found out about 8 months ago that my Father was at the funeral and even came to our house and saw my room. My mother was being mean to him and wouldn't give him a picture of me in uniform. My Father mentioned that my half brother was in the military as well and my mom took it personally and started to brag about me. She totally missed the point. What's worse is that when I was in the military and stationed in Italy, my younger brother was in the Army in Germany.

They both knew of my existence and I could've had a relationship with my brother ten ten years ago. I also found out that they only lived an hour away from me when I was growing up. SO on both continents, because of the bitterness of a woman, I missed out.

I had a business and I realized I only wanted to get rich for a family I thought gave a fuck about me. Now I only want to produce enough to live and save on. There's more to the story but I'm emotionally worn out after this multi hour affair.

Thank you guys here on the forum, the overwhelming feeling of being cheated is extraordinary some days. Especially when I talk to my brother in the Army.

Even though they won't read this, to the siblings on my mother's side. I'm sorry we never got a chance to be a family. NO one ever had the bravery to get Mom help or get the kids out of her care. I know you guys got beat just as bad and I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to help you guys.

It sucks that none of us have seen each other in 7 years. We have no idea what's happening in each other's lives. It also seems like it was all so painful that it's easier to not bother. It really sucks. We were robbed of having the chance to love each other. Apologies as I was a lame brother. Sorry again.

To the siblings on my Father's side, what a complete blessing. Sis you're the best and thank you for helping me see that I won't have to die without knowing what familial love is, as I had completely given up. I won't ever be able to get past the fact that our parents denied me a chance to know you, and thus I never hope to see them again. I can't believe in the good intentions of people like that.

To my Father. You had a chance when I visited you to tell me the truth. I came to find you and your shame led you to keep lying. You had a chance to have a son and you thought me too stupid to be frank with. You have two other children. Cherish them.

To my Mother. You're sick. Kinda hope you die so I can get some relief. You also have two other kids, but they didn't this last Xmas. Is karma a bitch yeah?

Okay, I'm taking a nap now. I'm fucking beat.