Early life

I am now 43 years old. I live in Belgium where my psychiatrist lives. U.S. Army paid this man to cure me from my mental illness which is in every mean bad, to put it lightly. I have been on medications and psychotherapy for almost 12 years now and I can’t say that I am felling any better. I will try not to bother you with my life in this period of time; I would rather like to tell you how it became of it.

I was born in Davenport, Iowa on the summer of 1964. I lived there for ten years with my parents when my father killed himself because he owed money to people to who you didn’t want to owe money to. My mother than took me and moved to New York City. New York was a big change for me. After all I was a little child without a father and with a mother which slowly started becoming a drunk. I lived in Bronx, in an apartment so small and wrecked I couldn’t turn around in it and see anything beautiful, anything comforting. There was nothing good for me in that apartment, that Bronx or even that city. I had no friends and nobody at school liked me because I was a fatherless child and I always kept quiet. I would give anything today to go back to those days, and I would never thought, not even in my wildest dreams that I will later call these days the good old times. When I was 16 years old, still living in a same small apartment with my mother who I didn’t recognize anymore because alcohol ate her soul, I went through what I will later refer to as the best time of my life. I fell in love with one year older girl named Katja. She was an immigrant from Poland, and my god she was beautiful!