On Aug 4, 2021, I finished serving my 13.5 month sentence for the first public revision of The Black Book. On June 29, 2022, it reached what is hopefully not its final revision. The willingness and desire to not only retain but even intensify the extreme and unwavering severity of my position if Kimi won't spend her life with me properly was only fortified by the experience. Think this is a joke?! Think again!!
» Formal warning of retribution. Provides core evidence & more detail on why I may end up doing quantum energy harvesting meditation intensely in isolation & exacting The Great Retribution.


To most people who are trying to understand someone, getting a clear view of their past experiences that shaped them and made them who they are today is a very valuable thing.

For someone writing a book asserting their dominance on the entire planet and everyone in it, this book wouldn't be complete without an extensive view into my entire past since childhood. This should help me attempt to start allowing you to understand how I've become the beast that I am today.


I was born on May 22nd, 1994. I didn't come out easy; from what I know, the doctor had to do a C-section to get me out. I'm not sure exactly how much I weighed, but I think I was on the heavier side. Anyways, that's the boring stuff.

Like most people, I don't have any recollection whatsoever of the first few years of my life. They must've been really boring anyways, so I suppose it really doesn't matter. Probably cried a lot and pooped in many diapers. Nothing special. My mother told me later on that I hardly slept for several days after getting circumcised, so that must've sucked, but luckily I don't remember.

My first memories start when I must've been at least 8 or 9 years old. They're pretty alright in the very beginning. Back then, before my parents divorced, my family lived in a decently nice house, and I actually had a bedroom and also a computer room which was connected by a washroom. I had a pretty big bed, and as I hardly even had much of a notion of identity at that point, my gender dysphoria still wasn't a very prominent part of my awareness. I knew it was there and it wasn't something that came and went either, but being so young I wasn't even really sure what it meant and basically just tried to ignore it and live my life.

Back then, Pentium 4 CPUs were amazing. Originally, we had only one family computer. That quickly became an issue, though, as me and my younger brother would always want to use the computer, and we'd end up regularly fighting over it. Eventually, I got my own computer which I put together myself, and I'd use that one while my brother used the old family computer.

It wasn't very long before I was curious about trying to make my own website, and once I started using the "View Source" menu option in Internet Explorer, I quickly started diving into the world of HTML, using good old trial and error.

The real family problems started around the time I was 10 years old.


I don't know very much about my parents to be honest. They never wanted to share much and never made the environment at home conductive to it feeling very appropriate nor desirable either. I hardly know much about how my parents even met or how their relationship was before they had kids; all I know about how they got married is the story my father told me about it.

I doubt I've ever been told the complete truth, but as I've watched the relationship between my parents unfold as I grew up, it's only made more and more sense to me why society has moved away from the norm of essentially spontaneous marriages with little to no previous interaction between the people involved, as well as why my parents were so secretive and distant from me.

It's become quite fascinating to me how fucked up the human condition is; we've managed to evolve throughout such a long period of time, developing from quite primitive beings to very complex ones that dominate the entire planet, and yet we've only in more recent years managed to realize that it really takes a meaningful relationship with depth before marriage in order to not result in a very likely fucked up and unsatisfying marriage, and even then it's still not something that's globally recognized and accepted.

Many people still think they can take massive unnecessary risks with fucking their and even others' love lives up, likely in the name of irrationally rigid cultural norms, then just sweep it all under the rug and keep secrets when things don't go well; the effects of the past generations bleeding into the present in this regard is so strong that I'm not sure if fascinating is as appropriate of a word to use rather than disgusting and concerning.


Apparently, he saw her at some ceremony.

Now that I think about it, he never even made it clear what it was. Maybe a baptism or a baby shower or a birthday party, all I really know is that there were multiple families from their shared race that were meeting for something. He said he saw her interacting with some children at this gathering, and pretty much was instantly left with the impression she was good with kids, which was the primary criteria he used to choose to ask to marry her.

Yeah, right.

I've never thought my mother is even remotely attractive, but he must've thought she had a nice ass or something back then and picked her that way, but not even have the balls to say it to me straight up because he's too much of a coward to accept the truth about his poor decision making that led to my life being so fucked up.

After all, he was already running his own business and making decent money when he met my mother, and while I don't think he was a player, I'm pretty sure he had quite a few women he could've picked from. What kind of reasoning is it to pick your future spouse based purely on their potential capacity to raise kids? Is he gay or something?

I mean, say you thought she had a nice body, say you liked her smile and thought she had a bright personality, say you liked what you heard about her family background, there are several things you could say that seem appropriate as reasons to want to marry someone, but to say it was vaguely because she seemed good with kids? It comes off fake as fuck, or if it's somehow not, then it clearly was a severe lapse in judgement, especially for someone who arrogantly likes to flaunt their ability to think.

I already know my father's fake as fuck in many other respects, so I'd hardly be surprised if this was a flat-out lie he's been saying to try to make up for how fucked up things turned out in our family. Given what I've seen of his personality though, this is hardly surprising; he hasn't been the type to coherently believe in keeping things real even when the going gets tough.

He contacted her family through family connections or something, he left the details of that unclear like many other things; he arranged for a meeting with her in his car. I suppose this part's believable enough, that sounds pretty standard for the kind of approach that might be taken among people in that generation. Not sharing any details about how exactly he went about it or his relation to them shows a pretty clear lack of desire to be understood very well though.

I don't see any good reason to want to tell this story, especially the several times he's done so, while deliberately always hiding the same details that all build up to a quite significant lack of overall information, if you don't have things to hide. Something about it still seems sketchy, even if this approach does make sense to believe could've happened.

It'd make more sense that at the very least this isn't the whole truth, and that they had some kind of past history before this event that I've never been told anything about. I've always found it very strange how every time he's told the story, it's always exactly the same progression with exactly the same details and absolutely no additional information or random little relevant memories thrown in here or there; it's like he rehearsed the story he wanted to present in his head for the years we'd grown distant, preparing to regurgitate the same bullshit over and over whenever he felt like it to try to convince himself he could manipulate someone with intelligence of my caliber.

Well, the idiot really didn't know who he was going to be dealing with. Him being an idiot seems to be a recurring pattern in his life too, so I can hardly say that's surprising either.

What he's always said is he talked with her in his car for not even half an hour. Asked her if she drank alcohol, smoked cigarettes, and did drugs. She said no to it all.

To which he proceeded to tell her he wanted to marry her and she had one week to make her decision and contact him if she wanted to go for it.


This is another one of those things that seems somehow reasonably plausible given the generation he's from, but it feels clearly rehearsed in delivery and certainly can't be the whole truth. After all, it doesn't take at least 15-20 minutes just to ask a couple very quick yes or no questions and very quickly get the answers to them.

I can't know exactly what happened and what was said during that conversation, assuming it's not entirely a lie. Considering that the best lies are hidden within half-truths, it's quite likely that he did truly meet her in his car for some period of time during which at some point he ended up asking her to marry him and giving her some time to consider it. What else was said and done in that interaction, which likely would provide more insight into how things ended up so fucked up in that relationship, he clearly has incentive to hide, so I'll never know.

Probably my mother tripping a bunch of massive red flags which my father realized in retrospect that he was a moron not to see, and he now feels far too embarrassed and ashamed to ever admit it. Probably explains why, in all of my limited interaction with my father before I cut him out of my life completely, he would constantly try to tell me to think more while I constantly demonstrated to him that he thinks far less than I do; his awareness of his severe lack in thinking in the past continues to haunt him to this day, while he also, like the idiot he is, continues not to learn from his mistakes.


She waited until the last day to hit him up.

The last fucking day. If that's not a red flag for the viability of a long-term loving relationship, I don't know what is. I can deal with a woman drinking. I can deal with a woman smoking. I can deal with a woman doing drugs. Hell, I could deal with a woman literally being a prostitute before deciding to commit to a relationship with me. But if she already seems considerably reluctant to be with me, I decide to give her a time limit within which to decide if she wants to enter into a relationship with me, and she waits until the last fucking day to accept? If I was my father, I would've told her no thanks, never talk to me again, you stupid bitch.

I don't care what generation you're from, you're completely retarded and deserve a bad outcome in your relationship if you can't see a clear lack of love and affection in someone making it that blatantly obvious that even if they have any serious intention to enter into a relationship with you, they're definitely only planning to do so to use you and then toss you into the garbage once they've finished finding usefulness in you. Especially when you have no real leverage to ensure to any significant extent that they'll think twice before unapologetically taking advantage of you like that.

That's not being in love, that's being a complete idiot. I'm not sure if my father was fortunate enough not to have his father be such a dumbass, or if he was just such a dumbass himself that he could've observed such a thing happening to his own father and should've worked more actively to raise his awareness towards it and avoid it happening to him too but didn't, but I can certainly say that there's no way in hell I'm ever making that kind of mistake.

My father, being the idiot that he is, decided everything was good to go and he married her.

I've never heard anything about where it happened, how it was, who if anyone was invited, how they felt around that time, none of anything like that. I'm not even sure of exactly when it was that they got married, they've never told me a date nor shown me any pictures. It's all just so fucking sketchy and shady. For a long time, I didn't really think much about it and even thought it must be normal for parents to be so distant and secretive, but as I've grown up, I've come to very clearly see just how severe the manipulation both of my parents were doing to me was.

I guess the only part I really got lucky with was that they're both terrible liars when attempting to deceive a more mature eye, and how stupid they are has allowed me to very clearly distinguish the severity of the manipulation and be able to reverse the brainwashing they worked so diligently to inflict upon me for such a long time.


In a way, it's hard to say for certain whether either or both of my parents intended only to use the other from the very beginning or if it just ended up that way because they didn't have enough love between them to make their relationship last, but it's certainly become quite clear that they initially got married because they found use in each other in very clear ways and that was the reason they ended up together rather than any real or at least significant feelings of love between them. Based on what I've heard and seen, my mother was trying to escape her harsh and basically abusive family environment without much money, a job, or the skills to get a job, and my father wanted a woman to give birth to his children.

I seem to recall at some point, somehow, that I heard the marriage had only lasted about 13 years, which was when I was about 10, as they were getting divorced. So I came in the picture within them being married for about two years, and then my brother less than 3 years later. Why it took that time before they had children I'm quite unsure and was never offered any kind of explanation for.

My parents were both pretty cold, distant, and just overall gave off a mean vibe to me, even when I was young and they weren't divorced. Back then though, it wasn't that bad. I don't have any great childhood memories. Probably the only decently pleasant memory I have from my childhood was when I got my own computer, meaning I no longer had to share computer time on the family PC with my brother.

I had an uncle on my mother's side that had a technically involved job where he'd assemble and sell computers as part of his company's operations. I'd went to his office a few times and he helped me learn how to assemble a computer from the parts. Using that knowledge, I assembled my new computer myself after the parts arrived. I felt accomplished.

I don't recall any real tension or fights at all between my parents for the first 10 years of our family life. I certainly saw nothing that would indicate they'd ever get divorced, and it wasn't something I ever thought about at all, even once they started fighting, until the fights started to happen nearly every day and seem to always escalate to yelling and persistent tension between my parents. The onset was quite sudden, and I had no idea really what they were even fighting about or why they ended up getting divorced, until well after my mother had already taken me and my brother from the house we shared with our father.

There was one point where I witnessed my mother literally spit in my father's face, right in front of me, my brother, and her mother; that was when I started to really feel like things were going downhill.

When I was about 10, everything just suddenly very quickly turned to shit. Out of seemingly nowhere, my parents suddenly started fighting nearly every single day. It'd go on for hours, them yelling at each other back and forth. My father would stay at work late, and when he came home he'd just want to watch TV and not interact much at all with anyone else in the house. He'd wake up early in the morning to leave for work, and he'd come home late and basically ignore everyone. It didn't actually bother me much at all personally; I actually quite liked that he wouldn't bother me and it meant I only had to worry about nagging from my mother taking me away from the activities I'd constantly immerse myself in on my computer.

I wasn't sure what was going to happen or what to think at first. I'd recently heard of the game MapleStory from the only person I knew who I could consider any kind of friend back then in elementary school, and I found it extremely enjoyable, so I'd always drown out my parents' arguing by playing MapleStory.

I also had started taking all the extra time I had on the computer because I now had my own to work with in order to use the "View Source" feature in my web browser to start teaching myself HTML. I even messed around in CSS, JS, and PHP a little too.


One day, my mother told me and my brother out of nowhere to pack our things because we were going to spend a week at my grandma's house. Being young and extremely naive, I didn't think much of it and believed that was all that was happening, so I didn't put up any kind of fight. All I cared about was if I could bring my computer so I could play MapleStory and code while we were over there instead of having to be bored all day. When my mother said I could, I felt as content as I could've been at that moment.

Spoiler alert, we didn't end up staying there for only a week.

More than a month passed, and we were still at my grandma's. My mother had still made no mention of why we were still there or when we were going back home. One day, it suddenly just dawned on me how long we'd been there, and I became very concerned about it and the fact that my mother didn't give any indication we were going back home any time soon. Even as a child, I wasn't afraid of confrontation. I confronted my mother about why we'd been there for so long and when we were going back home.

That's when she finally decided to casually drop on me that she was divorcing my father and we were never going back.

I was absolutely livid.

I reminded her that I could clearly recall that I'd specifically told her before she'd made this decision that if she was going to leave my father, I wanted to stay with him. My reasoning was very simple and also two-fold. First of all, my mother was completely financially unstable and incompetent, while my father had a stable and established business he'd already been running for several years and single-handedly already provided for his entire family with. The prospects with my mother in terms of finances were absolutely horrid in comparison. Second of all, my mother had already completely clearly demonstrated to me that she was absolutely mentally unstable as fuck.


Now, you may be wondering how my mother could've already very clearly demonstrated to me that she's severely mentally unstable when I myself was only 10 years old and hardly even had much knowledge of the world. Well, the fact that I didn't have such a detailed view of the world was actually what made it so clear that what I'd experienced because of this woman made her clearly insane.

Aside from her clear inclination to enjoy randomly picking fights and being extremely controlling and obsessive about where I was, what I was doing, and where every single thing I owned was, along with the fact that she'd regularly threaten to lock me in the dark in the garage or put me up for adoption any time she felt like it, there was that one mental breakdown she had where she lost her mind and started randomly going around the house crying and screaming for her mother. She literally started just acting completely insane one day.

Me and my brother were so confused and scared that we called our father, who had to stop working just to come home and figure out what the fuck was going on, you know, considering we told him our mother had gone insane randomly.

After he came home and saw what was going on, he told us to give them a little space and he'd talk to her alone. They talked for a little while, and afterwards my father came back to us and told us she had just been faking it and she'll start acting normal again. Me and my brother were both very confused. We approached her, and I asked her why she'd done what she did. She simply said that at one point, we'd called her crazy, and so she wanted to show us what crazy really looked like.

So basically, my mother had a massive mental breakdown and started acting like she'd spontaneously developed a mental illness and lost her mind, simply because a child less than 10 years old at the time had called her crazy once over something so insignificant and very likely at least mildly appropriate to do so over that even she couldn't recall what it was.

After that, I knew my mother was a lunatic.


So, my mother, whom had already clearly demonstrated to me that she was a lunatic, mentally and financially incompetent to take care of me or my brother properly, had lied to me and forcefully took me away from my father's care, whom I would have preferred to live with and I had explicitly told her that already. I felt certain I'd have to deal with a lot of abuse from her, even from a young age as this was all happening and before my mother could really start being extremely controlling and abusive, and I wasn't wrong.

Throughout the time I was forced to live with her, she was very controlling and frequently relentlessly emotionally abusive.

She'd always find things to pick at me for and harass me on a near-daily basis. If I had little or no homework, she'd fight with me that I should have more. If I had a lot of homework and had to stay up late, she'd fight with me that I shouldn't have so much. If I stayed at home all day on my computer, usually coding as I often did, she'd complain and fight with me that I don't go out and hang out with friends or socialize. On the rare occasion that I did go out with friends, she'd turn around and start fighting with me for days following that I always went out and messed around with my friends instead of staying at home and working towards improving my future.

There was always something she'd pick at and fight with me over. No matter how rational the thoughts I conveyed to her were or how logical my actions were, she always found some emotionally-rooted disgusting way to worm her way out of admitting she was wrong or giving me any real praise no matter how much I deserved it. As you can imagine, this was quite traumatizing.

Fast forward to me hitting 18 years old. I enter university. At this point, I had already been programming for over 8 years, as I first started with HTML already when I was 10 years old.

Upon seeing the first year course work literally being a joke for me, I decided to talk to some others (3rd/4th years at the university, as well as my 4th year cousin in Software Engineering at the time), and it was quite obvious that my programming abilities very significantly surpassed theirs. As a result, I came to the probabilistic conclusion that it would be quite inefficient to continue going. So I very quickly stopped really caring about going to school and getting any good grades in any subject.

During the lowest and most stressful points in my life, I usually smoke cigarettes. I have a theory about smoking cigarettes that has proven quite accurate thus far in my life, at least for me. If you only smoke cigarettes when you're at your lowest and most stressful points, you'll associate cigarette smoking strictly with absolute misery and disgust; as a result, you'll use them to get through the hardest times in your life, but you'll never crave them when you feel good, because you've mentally associated them with negativity to such a thorough extent that they simply hold no appeal.

This was a very troubling time in my life, so I'd sometimes go out to the park nearby my house and smoke cigarettes. I especially enjoyed sitting on the bench in the middle of the park and staring at the night sky in the middle of the night as I puffed on some cigarettes. One day, after I'd come home from university very late, it was around 1 in the morning, and it felt like one of those nights to sit on the bench in the park and smoke some cigarettes. I was at the point that I very clearly knew I didn't want to continue going to university, but I felt lost in my direction in life in that case, because I also felt like my programming skills were quite exceptional and I didn't want to work a regular job, so I was pretty stressed and feeling quite low.

As I sat on the bench in the park smoking, someone started walking by. He stopped in front of me and asked me if he could have a cigarette. The only cigarettes I had at the time were a few Marlboros that I'd gotten from one of my best friends in high school, who'd imported them from the US to sell for a profit at school. He'd given me some for free because I'd help him out with computer stuff sometimes and I'd also come over to his house far more than any of my other friends, because we had a good time chilling.

I knew my friend had since ran out and wasn't buying more, so the few I had were the last Marlboros I was probably going to smoke for a long time. Still, I felt nice because I was enjoying the atmosphere of the nighttime at the park, so I decided to give him one.

He thanked me and started walking away, but as he looked at the cigarette to check the brand, he stopped for a moment.

"Is this a Marlboro?" he asked.

"Yeah," I replied nonchalantly. I was just giving the guy a free cigarette, so I wasn't sure why he was asking about the brand. It was free after all.

"Nice! It's my favorite! Thanks man," he responded as he started to walk away.

I didn't think much of it and took another drag off my cigarette. That cigarette finished, and I sparked up another one right after. I don't smoke very often, but when I do, I pretty much always chain smoke. I continued to sit on the bench at the park. I felt like staying for at least another hour or 2, and my house was extremely close to the park, so it'd literally take me less than 2 minutes of walking to get home and I wasn't stressing about it. Besides, if I waited long enough, hopefully my mother would be asleep when I went inside, instead of sitting in the living room waiting to surprise me and start bitching about why I came home so late.

I was an 18 year old in university that never once came home incoherent and in any way apparently drunk or high, yet she was still extremely controlling and unreasonably interrogative of me every time I left the house, even if I just wanted to go for a walk and some fresh air, or even every time I'd get home from university, regardless of what time I got home. I wanted to focus on what I was going to do with my future instead of that bullshit, so I just kept staring at the sky puffing my cigarette thinking about life.

I wasn't keeping my eye on the time, but it must've been about 15 or 20 minutes after I'd given that guy I'd never seen before a cigarette in the middle of the night, and he returned to the park. He approached me once again, the cigarette I'd given him earlier still in his hand.

"Hey, could I have a light?" he said as he put the cigarette to his lips.

"Oh, yeah," I said. I reached for my lighter in my pocket and handed it to him. He lit his cigarette, took a drag, and handed my lighter back to me.

"Yo, do you smoke weed?" he asked.

"Yeah," I replied casually. I had no idea why he was asking.

"Here, I got something for you," he said as he raised his hand not holding a cigarette.

I opened my hand not holding the cigarette I was currently smoking, and he placed something into it. It was quite dark due to it being the middle of the night, and for a moment it was hard to make out what it was he'd given me, but after looking at it for a little while, I was pretty sure of what it was.

"Yo, is this weed?" I asked with some visible excitement.

"Yeah bro. It's for you. Enjoy. You gave me a Marlboro and they're my favorite but really hard to find around here, so I wanted to give you a gift. Have a good night man," he said with a smile on his face.

"Thanks bro! I'll enjoy it for sure," I responded happily. Even in the dimly lit middle of the night at the park, I could still see that the nug of weed he'd given me looked to be more than half a gram, so it wasn't a tiny amount he'd given me either. Certainly more than what that cigarette was worth. I figured he just felt generous like I had.

"No problem bro. See you around," he said as he turned around and took another drag off his cigarette as he walked away.

I didn't think much about it. I was happy to have some weed I could smoke later, because I hadn't had some for quite some time at that point, and I could really use it to help me deal with the stress of both dealing with my abusive and controlling mother as well as trying to figure my future out. I continued to smoke the cigarette I was smoking. When that one finished, I lit and smoked another one. Then another one after that. Then I just stared at the night sky for a good while longer, and eventually made my way home. It was well past 2 at that point, and luckily, my mother was asleep. I walked up to my room and went to sleep.

The next day, I decided to stay at home and just smoke the weed I'd gotten as I contemplated my future some more. My mother had to go to work, so it was very easy to simply tell her I had classes to go to later, and then just never end up leaving the house. Going downstairs and moving my shoes around a little so my mother couldn't try to interrogate me about them seeming to be in exactly the same position would be sufficient to keep her off my back. I stayed at home and thought about my future while slowly smoking the weed I'd got throughout several hours, and then as the time neared that my mother would get home, I left the house and went to the park to chill.

I was thinking about life and not using my computer anyways, so I had no specific reason to stay home, and since it was extremely stressful even being around my mother in the same house, stepping out and getting fresh air to think would be infinitely more effective at allowing me to relax and clear my head than staying around to possibly get fought with and/or interrogated randomly as my mother passive aggressively took out her frustrations with life on me.

I still had some cigarettes left, so I started smoking. After some time, both my brother and the dude that I gave a cigarette to the previous night approached me at the park. I was surprised and confused. I quickly learned that the dude actually went to the same high school that my brother did, and they weren't close, but they knew each other. I learned that he sold weed and he'd come to the park I was starting to hang out at often because he lived really close to the park as well and it was a spot he often made sales. He told me his real name, but he told me he preferred to be called Clutch. Not a problem.

I lived at a house literally right beside the park, while he lived a few houses down a nearby street; he was less than a minute walking distance further away from the park, so it made a lot of sense. That's how I came to realize I'd met my neighborhood drug dealer after only a few times of smoking cigarettes in the middle of the night at the park near my house.

"So what are you doing? Are you staying here or what?" Clutch asked me with clear interest.

"I got a lot on my mind and it's stressful at home so I'm gonna chill here and keep smoking cigarettes," I told him.

"Will you be here in like an hour?" he asked me, pretty obviously because he planned to return.

"Yeah bro, I'll be around for sure," I assured him.

He told me he'd be back in the park later in the day, and with weed. After a little while, he had to go home, so I told my brother not to mention that he knows anything about my whereabouts if my mother asks him, and both my brother and Clutch left. I continued to sit on the park bench and smoke cigarettes, thinking about my future as I waited for Clutch to return with weed.

After less than an hour, Clutch returned.

He had a joint with him. He lit it and we started talking as we passed the joint back and forth. He seemed like an alright dude, and he was certainly quite friendly towards me for a drug dealer. I'd never been a customer, nor had I even expressed interest in becoming one. He told me that he didn't really have any friends that lived really close to him like me, and he expressed interest in hanging out more often. He offered to let me smoke weed for free every time we hung out, because he smoked it every day and always had some to spare, being a dealer.

It sounded good to me, so I agreed. Because I was in university and left and returned home at varying hours, I finally got a phone for the first time in life from my mother, because she wanted to be able to further be a control freak over my life; she didn't present it that way though, obviously. Anyways, the point is I had a number, so me and Clutch exchanged numbers.

The next day, Clutch texts me to meet him at the park. My mother had already left for work, and I was just thinking about my future anyways, so I agreed. As I walked into the park, I saw Clutch standing beside the bench smoking a cigarette. It looked like he'd only very recently started. I walked up to him, we greeted each other, and I took out a cigarette myself and lit it. We smoked our cigarettes mostly in silence. Clutch finished his cigarette a little before I did, and he took out a joint. He asked me if I was down to smoke it with him.

Of course, I was. As we were passing the joint back and forth, he mentioned that he had a chop to do, and asked if I was down to bring him back to my house so we could smoke more weed while he bagged some up to sell it. I was just thinking about life and not doing much else, and I really wanted to smoke more weed, so I agreed.

I started to go to the park to smoke cigarettes nearly every day, and Clutch would regularly either run into me at the park or text me and ask me what I was up to and if I was down to smoke some weed with him. We started hanging out pretty much every day. We'd smoke weed and cigarettes inside the house, and he'd make chops at the front door regularly.

After a while, he actually decided to dabble in also dealing MDMA, and he had his supplier come to my house; that was a pretty interesting experience. A while after Clutch called his guy, a car with no license plates pulled up into the driveway. Clutch even made it a point to point out the lack of a license plate, to emphasize how hardcore the guy was. He came inside with a bag. We all went into my room, and Clutch and his source sat on my bed. Clutch then took out a ton of bills and started counting up thousands of dollars in 20s, 10s, and 5s, as his source took out 2 huge 1 pound bags of weed and 14 grams of MDMA crystals then proceeded to watch Clutch and confirm the amount.


As I started hanging out with Clutch and being able to smoke a lot more weed and relax more, I was more and more certain that finishing university wasn't the life path that felt right to me. I carefully thought about my options. I wanted to start specializing my coding skills and doing some research and work with graphics engines so I could start doing game development. It was something I'd wanted to do from a young age, so I felt drawn to it. I've always loved games, and I've always loved coding, so game development seemed like the best logical decision as it was a combination of both of those things.

However, I also knew my mother wasn't going to let me drop out of school so I could stay at home and work on developing a game. I knew that she knew I was good with computers, but she'd always look down on my skills of both working with computers in general as well as coding in specific, which wasn't surprising at all because she literally never had anything good to say to me and literally never complimented me on anything even when I did well in something. If I did one thing well or maturely, she'd find something else to try to bash my character and lifestyle around with.

So I decided to start looking for a job. I decided I had to let my mother know, because I wanted to know her reaction, and I also didn't want her to cause a huge fight with me about it later if I found a job and suddenly just approached her one day and told her I found a job and was quitting university because I found it a waste of my time and money. Dealing with my mother was always extremely stressful, and I hated opening up to her at all, because I knew I had no good reason to trust her at all one bit more than absolutely necessary. I popped some MDMA, waited for it to start kicking in, and then went downstairs to tell my mother I was getting a job.

During that initial conversation, she was making strange suggestions and interrupting me way too frequently to the point I had to tell her several times to simply let me speak my thoughts instead of constantly interrupting and giving input I didn't ask for or want, but although she wasn't listening to that request, she didn't seem opposed to me getting a job. She even told me she'd get me a suit I could wear for my interviews. I thought it was weird and unnecessary, but she was extremely insistent on it and said that I needed to wear one to leave a good first impression on my potential future employers.

At the time, I didn't have the insight to know it definitely wasn't appropriate clothing for a job interview for a programmer position, which was what I was applying for, or any other job I'd ever apply for either for that matter, but because I'd never been to an interview before, I thought she was actually being nice; I've long since realized that this was her passive aggressive way of sabotaging my chances at actually getting a job, and I was very frustrated once I found out.

Once I realized what she'd done, I also immediately knew why, and I was only further disgusted. It was quite ironic actually. Throughout the time I'd had to live with her, she'd regularly criticize my father and praise herself, saying that my father was trying to trap her with him by intentionally sabotaging her ability to leave him and making her feel like she was doomed without him in her life, to which she felt very proud she'd managed to overcome it. The reason it's ironic is because that's exactly what she was trying to do to me with being so insistent on me wearing a suit to every single job interview I attended.

A little while passed, and I went to two job interviews, both of which my mother insisted I wore a suit to, and obviously I didn't get the job. My mother was very quick to start regularly telling me that I just wasn't qualified enough, I'd drastically overestimated my abilities, and I definitely needed to keep going to school and graduate, which was why I wasn't able to get a job. I felt like something was certainly off and I told her I was going to keep trying because I hadn't even been looking for very long. She certainly wasn't happy about that.

It wasn't long before it became very obvious that my mother had a very real problem with me actually having the prospect of getting a job and quitting school, and once she saw I was serious about it and wasn't going to be manipulated by her, she wasted no time to make it very clear to me she had no intention of allowing me to pursue the course of action I wanted to take. As I kept adamantly searching for a job, within a very short period of time after she realized she couldn't manipulate me into focusing on school and stopping my search for a full-time job, she caused an extreme amount of conflict.

As I saw this happening, I realized that I could no longer accept her severely abusive behavior which had now become very clearly blatantly malicious, and I knew I absolutely had to leave that environment promptly. After she tried even involving one of my uncles to back her up and further attempt to guilt and manipulate me into quitting my job search and focus on school, she started becoming even more hostile, and I knew what I had to do. One day, when she called me downstairs to "talk" once again, which really meant her yelling at me and harassing me for not giving her more of my student loan money, of which she'd already fought with me to the point she'd managed to manipulate me into giving her $1000 of, I decided enough was enough, and I told her I was calling my father. She started getting angrier and defensive, trying multiple times to tell me "Before you call that number, there's something you should know", but when I asked her what she was talking about, she just told me I was going to regret it.

I knew there was definitely a possibility I'd regret it, but I also knew I'd regret sticking around in her abusive environment and not even trying. I decided that after seeing what kind of a person my mother truly is, my father would at least be a new experience, if not also a better one. She certainly wasn't doing anything to make me not regret leaving, and so I very quickly realized that if I ended up with unfortunate circumstances with my father, that just meant I was very unlucky to have a shitty family regardless, and that if I was going to wallow in regret, I'd be regretting whatever decision I made either way. Once I pretty quickly realized this, combined with the fact that she was just fucking with me and trying to fear monger me into not contacting my father using no real rationality or substance to her argumentation whatsoever, I eventually just told her to shut up, and I finally fully dialed the number and waited on the dial tone for my father to pick up.

My father answered the phone pretty quickly. It wasn't really surprising to me, he was at work, and he had to answer his phone promptly to make sure he wasn't missing out on potential orders. I wasted no time telling him that I wanted to leave my mother and live with him, and he asked me when I wanted him to pick me up. I told him right away, to which he told me he could drive over there in less than an hour, and I said I'd finish packing my stuff and be ready to go by the time he arrived.

While my mother had remained silent during the phone call, she wouldn't shut up afterwards. She followed me up the stairs and into my bedroom, yelling at me the whole time as I was packing up my stuff. Of course, I wasn't having any of it and I was yelling back at her. I didn't really have any reason to fight with her any longer except for personal satisfaction of getting my frustration with her out, so I decided to yell extra loud and hard for once. Even seeing I very clearly was packing all my stuff and appeared to have no intent to go back on my word to my father to leave with him was not a good enough reason for this woman not to fight with me and leave me angry and frustrated with her to the very last moment I ever had to deal with her. She'd always been a petty bitch, so I suppose it was foolish of me to have any expectations of her to finally act mature at that point.

My father arrived within less than an hour like he'd said. He didn't even dare park in the front driveway, which I knew was smart of him, because my mother probably would've called the cops on him if he did. As soon as I saw his car, I started bringing my stuff downstairs to load into his car. I didn't even have that much, so it didn't take long before all my stuff was out of the house and loaded up.

As I left that hellish nightmare of an environment I called living with my mother for the last time, I gave her one final "fuck you" and didn't look back. I got into the car with my father, and we drove off. As he drove me back to his place, he asked me if I was hungry, to which I said I was, and we stopped for some fast food. Within less than an hour, we were unloading my stuff from his car and into his house.


Upon initial arrival at my father's house, things seemed to be okay. Within a couple months, I managed to identify that I wanted to use my programming abilities to make a game, and not just any game, but the first ever truly multi-genre game. I threw together a core design document.

My father seemed mostly understanding, and even when I told him I was going to quit university because I already had the knowledge and passion necessary to do so, he expressed his concern but ultimately said he would allow me to do so as long as I could demonstrate clear progress and an end-goal. I had no issues with this as I was not attempting to deceive him so those things were only a natural consequence of my work.

The problems came though, as time went on. We had some very trivial arguments, and some not so trivial ones. He forced me and my brother to appear in court to force my mother to give up at least some of the RESP funds she would clearly no longer be entitled to if we were no longer living with her, since she had previously claimed he was lying about us living with him. This money he kept for himself, but I did not really have an issue with that since he was ultimately supporting me anyways.

Something really wasn't sitting quite right with me about why he was acting the way he was though, as I was showing him proof of my working and would literally sit at home all day everyday, rarely going out, and even when he came to talk to me or see what I was doing, I was pretty much almost always working on making my ideas for the game a reality, primarily through programming. He would say things like "you're doing nothing all day", even though that clearly was not the case and I had proved it to him on a very rational level as I showed him the game's progress in development.

I was starting to see a stronger and stronger resemblance to abuse just like my mother had done to me. But I had a goal, and I was determined not to let his fear, anger, jealousy, or whatever one might want to argue it was to stop me from succeeding in life.

However, in life, there are many limits. Unfortunately, one day not very long after that court case was settled, my father severely breached a very critical limit that I identified for myself. He irrationally genuinely threatened to kill me for something completely beyond my control.


While I was always more of a thinker and proactive in using my thoughts to shape the objective reality in a fashion that maximized the value I can bring to my own life and others' lives, my younger brother (three years younger) was not nearly at quite a capacity of functioning.

As a result, when he ended up finishing high school, he didn't want to pursue a post-secondary education while simultaneously essentially just playing games most of the day, and this understandably upset my father. Eventually, one day, my brother just snapped, completely lashed out at my father, and my father kicked him out.

Upon hearing the story from both sides, I came to the conclusion that this must have been what my brother wanted, since even I could sympathize with and understand my father reacting the way he did. So my brother left.

But as the days went by, my father was more and more persistent in telling me to try to convince my brother to come back. Within not even a month, he was already doing it almost every single day, and it was not a mere "tell your brother to come home, it's best for him".

It was more of a very emotionally manipulative harassment where he would essentially blame me for all the shortcomings of my brother including him leaving itself. As you can imagine, this was very exhausting to deal with, and within a short period of time, I was rendered completely unable to continue developing my game in that environment.

Within about two months of my brother leaving and not giving any kind of response to my messages, my father saw that merely asking my brother to come back would not be enough to get any kind of response from him.

So he tried offering money. He told me to tell my brother he would give him money to simply have a conversation with me in person, and explain what he's doing and why he's not coming back. So my brother demands $2,000, my father says $500 is as far as he'll go, and my brother agrees.

My brother comes over and explains to me that he loves being homeless, much more than he enjoyed living with our father. He didn't hate our father, but rather he enjoyed the excitement and opportunities that living downtown brought. He had also applied for welfare, and the welfare office had helped him land a job.

I was very happy for him and told him that since he is a legal adult, I understand and accept that it is truly beyond my control whether he comes back or not.

However, it is worth noting that up until the conversation I had with my brother at that point, my father was constantly putting all the blame on me, for things my brother did, my mother did, and essentially many things beyond my control. He literally went as far as to say that my ability to even function as a human being at all would be determined by if I was able to convince my brother to come back or not.

I knew my father would not react positively if I merely told him what my brother had told me. He would probably even accuse me of lying. So I told my brother to wait until my father got home from work, and tell him the conclusion himself.

So my father comes home, and a gigantic storm arises as I had expected. Plenty of emotional abuse and attempted manipulation flowing out of my father's mouth like the water flows through a river with a fast current. He just kept going. He even went so far as to ask my brother if he even needs his father anymore, and when my brother said no, my father said that he should give back the money he was given then.

When my brother questioned why, and rightfully so since it was never a precondition that my brother must come back in order to receive the money, my father very aggressively stated that it was because it was "the way things have to work right, and if things don't work right, people's lives become in danger". I took this as an indirect death threat to my brother, but I suppose it is open to your interpretation.

Proceeding on, my father was still attempting to force my brother to come back. When I finally saw, after many hours of arguing, that my brother would really not budge and the whole argument was a huge shit storm going in circles with all of us only getting more and more stressed out, I finally had enough.

I told my father, "Look, we both tried our best, but my brother is not coming back, and he is not obliged to do so. You already even took away the $500 he realistically deserves to have, and since he is a legal adult, we must both accept his decision. He's not coming back, and you should stop stressing us all out by continuing to have a circular argument going nowhere. You told me my abilities as a person can be judged by whether my brother comes back or not, but I know this is not the case. What are you going to do, kill me over it?!"

Do you know what his response was? His expression remained sharp, his eyes flared, and I could see the smirk clearly forming on his face. In a very serious tone, he responded. "Be careful."


At this point, I took this as a very direct death threat. I literally immediately called him out on it and questioned how he could even rationally argue my brother should come back despite literally just hearing that. My father flat-out denied he had even made anything resembling a death threat altogether. I told him very clearly at that point that everyone better hold up because at this point, I'm even very seriously contemplating leaving with my brother.

My father, keys in hand, tightly gripping one pointed forward, aggressively walks right up to my face and says "You're all talk, you won't do shit." My brother ended up leaving, but I decided to stay at least a little longer.

However, I could not sleep. I was utterly mortified by what I had experienced. My father had genuinely threatened to kill me over something completely insane and entirely beyond my control, not in any way my fault. I had already made up my mind that I was going to pack up my things and leave.

For the next 2 days, I could not sleep. When my father was gone for work, I would work as diligently as I could to gather any and every belonging I had, pack it up, and prepare to leave. On the second day, close to the time he was about to come home, I left.

After I left my father's house, that was the first time in my life that I became homeless. I'll admit, I was quite scared at first. Luckily for me, my brother had already been homeless for a while, so I had some information to work with already. As I was packing my things to leave, I had asked him where the shelter he was staying at was and told him I was asking because I planned to go there as well. He gave me an address and wished me good luck. The address was in downtown Toronto, so I took the few coins I had on me for bus fare and made my way downtown.

When I arrived at the address he told me, I quickly learned that he had not given me the correct address. I was carrying three heavy bags on me, because back then I still had a lot of attachment to physical possessions and also wasn't experienced with being homeless, so I was quite lost as to what to do at that point. I knew there was absolutely no way I was going back to my father's house, so I started walking around downtown Toronto, pretty much aimlessly, trying to figure out what I was going to do.

The bags I was carrying made it quite painful to move around, but somehow I still managed to walk around for a few hours. Eventually, I ended up in a park. It was already night time at this point and I was quite tired and didn't feel like continuing to walk around aimlessly anymore because my three heavy bags had exhausted my shoulders, back, and feet. Just like that, I spent my first night ever homeless nervously alternating between sitting down and pacing around at a park in downtown Toronto all throughout the night, constantly watching my three heavy bags as I listened to music on my phone to stay awake for the third night in a row without sleep at that point.

The next morning, I went back to the area around the address my brother had given me. I wasn't sure exactly what I was going to do, but I sat down somewhere to think. I was quite sleep deprived at this point, and I was fading in and out of consciousness, extremely nervous about getting my possessions stolen.

As I sat there, after a while, a guy walks up to me and asks me if I'm homeless. I was instantly jerked awake and told him I was, starting to look nervously at my positions to see if anything was missing. Immediately he told me that he was friendly and had no intention to hurt me or take any of my belongings. He asked me if I smoked, to which I said I did, and then he took out a cigarette and handed it to me. I thanked him and gratefully took it, put it in my mouth, and lit it.

He took out another cigarette for himself and lit it. He asked me if it was okay if he sat beside me, and I said okay. He proceeded to tell me that he was also homeless and staying at a shelter that was just across the street from where I was sitting. He asked me if I planned to go there and I told him that of course I did. I thanked him for letting me know about the shelter. He told me he was glad to be able to help and that in that case, he would see me again soon, during the shelter's regular reopening hours. I asked him what he meant, and he explained that the shelter closed during the morning and early afternoon, to encourage the homeless people staying inside to find something useful to do with their time.

I told him that I would go check into the shelter after I was done the cigarette, and he told me everything was going to be fine and then went on his way.

As I was smoking the cigarette, I contemplated on why my brother had given me an address very close to but not exactly that of the shelter. I very quickly realized that he was probably concerned that it was some kind of manipulation I was playing into that my father was orchestrating to try to figure out exactly where he's staying. I decided to forgive my brother for lying, and as I finished my cigarette, I got up, grabbed all three of my bags, and started walking to the shelter.

I was a little confused at first as to where the entrance of the shelter was, because there didn't seem to be any clear door to it. I entered the main door of the building I'd been told was the shelter, and told the first staff member I saw there that I was looking to register to be in the shelter. I was informed that the actual entrance to the shelter was through the secured side door further along the front of the building I'd entered. I went back outside, walked further down along the length of the building, and noticed that there was a buzzer beside a locked door that was part of the same building.

I pressed the buzzer and a voice asked me what I wanted. I told the person over the speaker that I was homeless and looking to stay at the shelter. The voice over the speaker told me to open the door. Very shortly after, I heard a buzzing noise and pulled the door open and stepped inside.

In front of me were a few stairs and I walked up them, turned to my left, walked up a few more stairs, and approached the secured front desk where the shelter staff for the day were seated. They greeted me and asked me if the bags I was carrying were all my possessions. I told them that they were. They asked me if I had any drugs or weapons in my possession. I said no.

The staff member at the front asked me if I had any identification. I asked if my health card was enough, and after I was told that it was, I took my health card out and handed it to the staff member. After taking a look at it briefly, he took out a few sheets of paper and started going through the rules of the shelter outlined on the papers with me.

The contents of the papers was pretty simple, straightforward, and understandable. I was asked about having any mental illness, being charged of any crimes, and if I had stayed at any other shelters. After I had finished providing all the information necessary for the forms and was assigned a bed, the door to my right opened and another staff member motioned me to come inside and take my bags into a room within which they would be held until I returned later in the day during the hours that the shelter reopened, after which I was told I'd have to put my belongings inside of my assigned locker.

After I left my bags in the shelter, I exited back out onto the street and started wondering what I was going to do with my time, since I obviously was no longer able to continue developing my game as I'd been passionately doing for the past couple years at that point, and I felt quite at a loss as a result. I didn't end up doing much except smoking a few more cigarettes and waiting for the shelter to reopen.

I found my brother pretty easily after the shelter reopened.

Before I even asked, he confirmed to me what I'd assumed earlier about him lying about the address due to worry my father was attempting to determine where he was staying. I made my way to my room and checked out the bed I was assigned. There were eight other beds in the room, and every bed except mine was a bunk bed. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snack were all served every day for free.

The first night I spent there was the only night I truly felt afraid. During the day after the shelter had reopened, I pretty quickly talked to a bunch of other guys in my room and got to feel out their attitude a little bit; they pretty much all seemed to be degenerates except for one dude, which I can't say was surprising. As we lay in the dark in the room before we fell asleep, we were talking back and forth. Naturally, since I was the new person in the room, they were talking to me mostly.

When I was asked what I spend my time doing, I mentioned that I was pretty good at programming. One of the guys told me that I shouldn't be so quick to brag about my skills, quite clearly expressing some jealousy. I responded that I wasn't bragging, simply sharing a little bit about myself, and that it shouldn't be something to be jealous about that I have some programming skills, especially considering I had still ended up in the shelter. He responded by telling me that I still shouldn't seem so proud of my abilities. Honestly, I found this a little funny, so I let the fucker see a little bit of my savage side. I told them that I know it's really not that much of a big deal if I'm better at him than programming because it's not like it's going to make him so jealous he'd want to kill me over it.

That was the last thing anyone said that night.

I woke up the next morning feeling very refreshed and with a newfound sense of confidence in my new environment. It certainly wasn't quite as cozy as a regular home, but it wasn't nearly so bad for a lifestyle of being homeless, which I thought would be significantly worse. Free food, shower facilities, a place to sleep at night... There was a lack of privacy and a sense of a lack of safety, but it wasn't bad at all overall. Considering that I hadn't felt much of a true sense of privacy or safety under the care of either of my considerably abusive parents, this wasn't really much of a difference to me, and I was actually so relieved to be rid of them in my life that in a very real way it felt like an upgrade compared to my old life, as strange as that may sound.

Literally the only thing that bothered me was that I no longer had a computer suitable for developing my game, but I decided that was something I'd have to worry about later. I knew that I wanted to apply for welfare, so I decided that the first thing I was going to do after breakfast and the shelter closing for the morning was to go apply for welfare. I figured that I would find housing and be able to leave the shelter within a couple days, and I could figure out what I was going to do about my computer situation at that point, when I'd actually have a place I could set up and use a computer to develop on in the first place.

I had breakfast at the shelter, then headed to the welfare office, which happened to be very close by. After talking to the front desk and requesting to see a case worker, I waited for the worker to be ready to see me, then stepped inside the meeting room with him. After being asked briefly about my situation and to show some identification, I learned that while I can get the basic needs funds quite quickly, the housing funds required me to have a birth certificate to further prove my identity.

Unfortunately, as I was packing my belongings to leave, I had noticed that my birth certificate was mysteriously missing. I was hoping that it wouldn't be a problem, but apparently it was. My first time being homeless ended up lasting over two months because of this, when it could've been only a few days.

As to what happened to my birth certificate, well, I know I certainly didn't eat it. I can't imagine having accidentally thrown it out. I'd looked high and low through every corner of my room and in every drawer I had, and I was certain I hadn't left it behind due to carelessness. To this day, the only conclusion I can reach is that my father stole it. I had happened to notice that it was missing a little while before I ended up homeless, so I actually confronted my father about it.

Unsurprisingly, he flat out completely denied knowing anything about it or having gotten anywhere near it.


When I first entered the shelter, one of the workers told me, upon seeing my newer, more expensive phone, that better phones get stolen quite quickly around those parts. I didn't think much of it at the time, but that proves to be quite the learning experience.

The very beginning of staying at the shelter was overall okay and actually a lot better than I'd expected. The guy that had initially introduced me to the location of the shelter told me his name was Paul, and he was a nice enough seeming guy; he even gave me cigarettes sometimes. I went through the first few days without really encountering any problems and was still a little apprehensive but felt like I could already understand why my brother felt pretty comfortable in this environment. The first real sign of trouble began though, when one guy, calling himself CJ, asked me for a cigarette one day as I was smoking out at the back of the shelter where people normally smoked because it wasn't allowed inside.

I wasn't asked for cigarettes very often, so I generally just gave people one when they asked. After I gave him one, he started striking up a conversation with me about wanting to quit smoking and how he'd been smoking for a long time, asking me if I had any advice. I made the very stupid mistake of being friendly towards him and trying to give him advice, still being quite naive to the ways of the world and the streets at that point. At one point, he told me I had a nice phone, and he asked if he could see it. I may the incredibly stupid mistake of actually letting him do so and handing it to him, thinking he would simply take a look and innocently hand it back to me after a short amount of time. He examined it, played around with it a little, but he didn't give it back. Thus began my journey encountering one of the higher-ups in the Bloods gang.

Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, I started seeing a bunch of people in the shelter carrying around red bandannas. Even a few of the guys from my room were caring red bandannas. We had established somewhat of a friendly connection. I'd smoked weed with them and back then weed was still illegal in Canada so when I asked if they knew where I could get some, one of them told me he had a license to get it medically, and I gave him cash to buy it for me, which I ended up sharing with him and a couple of the others. I straight-up asked them if they were Bloods, and they told me yeah they're from the streets and basically they needed to join a gang so they joined the Bloods.

"I already got a lot of my boys in here," CJ told me. It was all so crazy to me. He was telling me how they were going to wipe out the Crips in the area within the next couple weeks. One of the guys in there told me that he used to be a Crip but left, and CJ confirmed it and told me that it was okay because the guy had left them, otherwise he would've had a problem with him.

It just so happened that the day CJ took my phone, the following day I was scheduled to pick up my new birth certificate, so I could finally start applying for housing. Unfortunately, CJ had my phone, and I really wanted to get it back, especially since I had spent nearly $1,000 on it quite recently at that point. I told him I needed to get my phone back and I had to go pick up my birth certificate, but he told me to do it later and come instead with him to see a place he hung out.

At that point, he was still telling me I'd get my phone back soon if I listened and came with him to where he wanted to take me, so it seemed like a difficult decision; if I could go back and give myself advice, I would've told myself the phone was already lost and that going where he wanted me to was entirely not worth it. I really didn't want to miss getting my birth certificate, but I figured it couldn't have been that much of a delay if I just went and saw where CJ wanted to take me, and I really wanted my phone back, so I decided to listen to him; this turned out to be a tremendous waste of time, at least as far as my endeavor of getting my phone back.

After a bus ride, we took a little walk and reached the destination he wanted to bring me to, a place that seemed to be some form of a recreational area. When we got there, the first thing he did was bring me into the computer room, open up a little flash game on some website, played for a little while, and then proceed to claim to me that he made the game himself. Naturally, I was quite in disbelief, considering that he certainly didn't seem like the programmer type. I asked him a few questions about how he made the game, and unsurprisingly, he didn't really give me any straight answers. I was quite certain that he didn't actually make the game, but I pretended to believe he did; I just wanted my phone back.

Afterwards, he brought me to the pool table in a separate area of the building, where I met his, as he said, street dad. It was certainly an older man, and he was also homeless. CJ told me this man was a high-up in the gang as well. CJ played pool with a man for a while, and at one point, he even made me quite uncomfortable by randomly asking me if I was looking at his ass. As I'm not into men, I obviously wasn't, but considering how many homosexual men were at that shelter, I can't say I was too surprised that CJ appeared to be one of them with him asking that.

After that miserable experience was over, me and CJ left the building. I'd already asked him a few times at this point if I could have my phone back, but he quite clearly didn't seem to have any intention of actually giving it back to me. The rest of the day went by, I didn't get my phone back, and I spent that night wondering what I was going to do about my birth certificate.

The next morning, CJ approached me and told me that he had managed to accidentally knock his street dad's phone, of exactly the same brand as my phone he had held hostage this far, off a handrail of a staircase while he was drunk, and now his street dad was very angry at him and demanded that he get him a replacement phone. The story sounded quite suspicious and I didn't really believe it at all. CJ told me that his street dad would literally kill him if he didn't get the phone for his dad, and he told me he had no way to do so other than to give his street dad my phone.

I told him that I felt sorry for him naturally, but that he had fucked up of his own accord, and that I just wanted my phone and it wasn't my problem what he did with his life. Initially, he sort of seemed to accept this answer, but after a while, he came back and told me that his street dad was now telling him that he would kill both CJ and myself if I didn't hand over my phone.

At this point, I started to realize that I had lost that $1,000 phone to a gang leader in a homeless shelter. I tried telling CJ that I didn't stay around any shady areas, and that I wasn't going to get simply shot or stabbed in broad daylight and a public space with a lot of people. CJ basically told me I was retarded and that he would shoot me in broad daylight in the middle of a mall himself if he had to. Honestly, after hearing this, I realized what I had said was actually quite indeed stupid.

Reluctantly, I agreed to hand over my phone into his possession permanently, but I asked him if I could at least move over my personal files from the phone before he took it. He seemed quite happy, and he agreed to let me move over my files before he took the phone permanently.

After he took my phone, he left the shelter and didn't return for the night. He never returned for the entire duration that I remained there. All the people I saw had red bandannas on them no longer had any around. I tried asking the "friends" from my room that I had, as well as a couple of the guys I had seen with red bandannas that I sort of knew because I'd given them cigarettes and had a couple conversations with them, and every single one of these people flat out denied being part of a gang or in any way being associated with the Bloods.

Many days went by, and I was surprised how quickly I was able to accept my loss and simply remain focused on the future. It was interesting though that one day, I saw CJ's street dad hanging around outside the shelter one day as I was smoking a cigarette. He came up to me and asked me if he could have a cigarette, so I gave him one. We talked for a while and I asked him if he'd gotten my phone from CJ, explaining that CJ had told me about how he'd broken his phone.

He told me that he hadn't, and that he hadn't seen CJ in a while in general, telling me that he moves around a lot and probably wasn't even in the area. He seemed quite carefree about it for someone who had apparently threatened to kill CJ if he didn't get him a replacement phone, and this only confirmed my suspicion that CJ had simply made that up as an excuse to steal my phone with greater ease. He asked me if I was angry at CJ and planned to take some kind of revenge, perhaps beating him up or something.

I told him I was over it and I had bigger things I was focused on in life, to which he seemed happy to hear.


Very early on when I enter the shelter, one of the guys I talked to was named Darren. He was very open about being gay and didn't make it any secret that he regularly used multiple different drugs. He also seemed not to have much hesitation at all about admitting to me the same day I met him that he has hepatitis C. Although he didn't unnecessarily seem like the greatest friend to have, he certainly appeared to be a better option than most of the other people at the shelter who simply seemed to be degenerates that would spend most of their time smoking weed and doing petty theft and perhaps other crimes and possibly even other drugs.

He went to University to become a doctor, but he'd kind of messed his life up because he got addicted to pain medication and ended up ruining his relationship with his family and I guess either becoming too distracted to want to put sufficient effort in school or simply not even really being capable of focusing enough in general due to excessive drug use and addiction.

During the nearly three months that I spent homeless during my very first experience being homeless, I spent far more time with Darren than with any other person from the shelter. He seemed like an interesting character, and he didn't seem like a very bad person to me, at least for the most part while I was still his friend. I had a few discussions with him about medical field related things and he always seemed quite pleasantly surprised by my knowledge and interest in medicine that clearly stemmed from an intellectual standpoint and not merely the desire to consume several drugs recreationally to get high.

Early on, one of the conversations I had with him where he demonstrated his medical knowledge was one where he introduced me to the DSM-5, which is the current major book that holds a lot of information about medical standards for a lot of mental illnesses spanning a wide range of diagnostic criteria. He used the DSM-5 to evaluate me and ended up diagnosing me primarily with generalized anxiety disorder and family developmental problems.

He actually typed up and printed out a whole diagnosis sheet with a rating and everything on it. He even signed it. I still have that piece of paper to this day.

He acknowledged that he had his own issues and I didn't at all feel as though he was trying to bully me or insult me in any way, so I merely found it interesting that I finally had some formally accepted criteria that I could use to be able to actually evaluate my mental state. I've never actually been to a therapist or doctor before for any kind of real mental evaluation and didn't really know if I actually met the clinical criteria for any diagnosable mental illnesses.

The comfort that knowing that I clinically had validation that I was in a mentally distressed state that was formally accepted as a hindrance to my ability to function properly in society and that the abuse my parents had inflicted upon me truly had a negative impact on my life that was very clearly objectively quantifiable empowered me and made me feel a certain sense of peace that I had not had in the past. This quickly caused me to see Darren even more favorably than anyone else in the shelter due to his intellectual and seemingly kind nature.

Throughout the time that I was homeless, I went on several I guess you could say adventures with Darren, and they were usually at least somewhat interesting to say the least. I witnessed him robbing a grocery store. I went with him to a couple clinics and pharmacies where he manipulated the doctors and pharmacists into giving him drugs. He told me about some of the details that he used from his medical knowledge in order to manipulate these systems, which I knew I didn't plan to use myself but found interesting nonetheless.

He gave me drugs on multiple occasions, sometimes for free and sometimes I'd pay him. I actually got to try a few new drugs in my life thanks to him, namely Adderall and Xanax. It was concerning to me how he was considerably careless with his possessions, and at one point he even gave me his phone worth several hundred dollars and seemed to have forgotten about it entirely, which I could have used as an opportunity knowing his tendency to have memory loss due to his excessive benzodiazepine usage as an opportunity to rob him of the phone, and I didn't have a phone at the time so it would have certainly been useful to me to do so, but I always remained a good friend to him and never took advantage of him even in such an opportunity. I reminded him about it and gave him back the phone within less than two hours.

It's actually my friendship with him in the past that gives me the most solid evidence that I'm truly not sexually or romantically attracted to men, and that's because he was actually not at all a bad looking guy, in fact he was actually seen as so good looking by other people including many gay men that he very regularly had sex with other guys in the shelter system that were homeless, and he actually very clearly although without explicitly saying so had expressed to me that he wanted to have sex with me and I very easily could have dated him and had sex with him multiple times if I so desired, but it never even once for even a moment held any interest nor appeal for me and I knew very clearly with complete certainty that I only ever wanted to be friends with him right from the very beginning of our connection, and that's all we ever were.

Although things seemed all fine and as if having a friendship with him was probably the most positive highlight of my homeless experience because it was easily the most fun and interesting part, it actually turned into easily one of the most disturbing human connections I've ever had the misfortune of experiencing in my entire life, towards the end of that period of me being homeless. Since me and Darren were friends that talked nearly every day, naturally I told him when my birth certificate had came in and I was starting to look for a place. I knew ahead of time when I was going to move in because I found a place and agreed with the landlord to move in less than two weeks before it actually happened, which I naturally ended up telling Darren about excitedly.

I told him that we would still be friends because he'd given me a lot of fun times and interesting memories and that I simply had direction in my life and didn't want to continue being homeless as a lifestyle and that's why I wanted to move. It was simply the honest truth that I had never concealed throughout any point of my friendship with him. I'd already told him before that I believed in him and that he could turn his life around, and I mentioned it again. He seemed sad and expressed that he thought it was the end of our friendship instantly, but he didn't fight with me or seem really angry, and I saw his reaction as very understandable.

Unfortunately, the thoughts he was having behind that reaction must've been a lot darker than I anticipated, and while I suppose I can still understand why someone in his position would've thought what he did and take the actions that he did, that certainly doesn't make them any less unacceptable and morally bankrupt. One day while we were hanging out, we were just casually talking and he happened to cut himself while he was shaving. We were both in the washroom with people coming in and out, because he wanted to be able to keep talking to me while he was shaving so he told me to come into the washroom with him, and I knew I had a much bigger and more muscular build than him so things like that didn't concern me because I knew he couldn't try to rape me alone even if he wanted to. It was also the washroom in the shelter near the staff room, so I knew it was already very unlikely I was in any danger from that aspect alone, and at that point I'd also already clearly expressed to him after having sex more than once with a female prostitute that I was clearly into women, so I knew that he wasn't going to try to pressure me to do anything sexual with him. I was bored otherwise and saw no real problem with chilling there to talk to him.

After cutting himself, he turned around and said he was going to go get a band-aid. It obviously wasn't a super serious injury, but he was bleeding more than an average small cut while shaving. It seemed unusual and I was a little concerned, so I asked him if he was okay and he assured me he was fine and just needed to get some toilet paper to wipe off the blood and then get a band-aid from staff to cover the cut. He turned to go get some toilet paper from a roll in order to wipe the blood off, but suddenly as I was looking in the mirror contemplating if I should shave my own face, he suddenly cut me on the arm with the razor blade and gripped my arm covering the bleeding cut with his hand that had his blood on it from his face. I saw him do this through the mirror and I asked him what the fuck he was doing because it was disgusting and he basically just apologized and told me it was an accident and that he would get me some paper towels for my cut as well. I went to the sink and instantly tried to wash the cut because I was concerned, but I also knew that there wasn't anything I could do at that point and I was really a lot more upset that it seemed quite clear he'd very intentionally given me hepatitis C.

At that point, I suspected and was really worried about Darren having given me his hepatitis C, but he had told me that he had gotten tested and he appeared to be one of the fortunate one in four people that spontaneously recover from it, so I held on to the belief that he hadn't simply been dangerously careless or more likely than not very intentionally malicious, and although I felt a lot more hesitant to talk to him and be warm to him, I still didn't decide to completely cut off our friendship initially.

That, however, didn't last a very long.

The next day, Darren approached me and told me I had hepatitis C and that he had given it to me. Violence has never been my style, and besides, we were in the shelter and I didn't want to get kicked out. I also already was well aware that if I had it, I had it, and no amount of yelling at Darren was going to take it away. I knew I had to stay calm and cool and I also figured that he wanted satisfaction out of seeing me get upset and hurt him, and I didn't want to give that to him. He told me that he lied about being tested again more recently and being one of the fortunate people to recover spontaneously. I simply looked at him with a stern expression and told him never speak to me again. I turned away and walked away from him.

That was the last time I ever talked to Darren.


Since I missed my original pick up date for my birth certificate, I had to schedule a new one. I went to the building for it and arranged for it. I had to wait an additional month, but eventually, I got it.

After I got my birth certificate, I instantly wanted to start looking for a place. I immediately went and informed the housing worker that I was now able to get my housing funds because I had all the necessary identification. She informed me that I should start looking for a place and once I found some places she would help me get settled in, but she also told me she knew someone that had a room available for a good price and asked me if I was interested in checking it out. I figured I didn't have any reason not to, so I told her I was. She made a call, and after confirming with the landlord that it was okay, she told me the address, gave me bus fare, and told me she'd meet me there.

After over an hour and a half of traveling, I arrived. The housing worker arrived shortly after, and then we made our way into the house. She showed me the room, but it actually still needed some work because it was only an open space at that time which needed walls and an entrance door built before it was inhabitable, which she told me would mean it'd only be available the following month at the earliest, and it also lacked a window. I didn't mind the lack of window very much, but I told her I didn't want to wait and have to be homeless for an additional entire month, so I decided to look for a place on my own, and I took the bus back downtown to go to the library and look for places. I spent the rest of that day looking through housing listings online on my laptop at the library and came back to the shelter for dinner.

The following day, I informed the housing worker and she told me to stay until after everyone else left so we could figure things out. After everyone left, we went into her office and she asked me to take out the numbers for the locations I'd picked. I took out my laptop and opened up the pages for all the places I was looking at the previous day, then she started calling. The first few places I'd picked either didn't answer or didn't accept welfare. Eventually though, one of the places that she called answered the phone and confirmed they accepted welfare, so the housing worker arranged to meet them and she gave me bus tokens and told me to meet her at the location once again.

We arrived at the location. The person that had been on the phone with us earlier met us, took us downstairs, and showed us the room. It was a basement room and there were three other rooms with three other guys in them. I didn't meet any of them that day, but I didn't really care. I liked the room and I was mostly just hyped to finally get a place and everything looked good so I told him that everything looked good and I was down to move in ASAP. All that was left was to give him the form he had to fill out for the welfare office so I could get the housing funds to pay rent.

We gave him that form, but he wasn't able to complete it on the spot because he actually wasn't the landlord, he was landlord's son, so he had to get the signature from his father in order to complete the form before being able to submit it. After we learned that, the housing worker told him that he could fax it upon completion, to which he said he could do, and then we left.

His father would usually only come around the area on the weekends, so it took a few days before he could get the form signed, but eventually not too long after we met, he got the form signed and faxed it over. All the paperwork went through and I got the funds necessary for the first and last month to move into the place. I moved in to the room at an awkward time during the month, and I actually got to live there for a couple days for free just because of the timing of it all. After I arrived, the landlord's other son greeted me because the son I'd originally talked to was busy at work, and that dude told me the Wi-Fi password, collected the money, and then I had the room to myself.

I was finally living on my own for the first time in my life. When I briefly thought back to how trapped, suffocated, and stressed out I felt having to deal with living around my parents and realized I now finally had my own place and didn't have to deal with that shit anymore, I felt fucking great.

Back when I was homeless and living at the shelter, I was getting free food and housing, so I wouldn't really spend any of the money I was getting from welfare. Now that I finally got my first own place, I decided that I wanted to celebrate. I went and bought some alcohol and some snacks and started to basically party. After I got home from buying the goods, I took out my laptop and started chilling, browsing the internet, going on YouTube, playing games, and just trying to actually relax for the first time in a long time. I felt exhausted after being homeless for over two months when I'd originally thought that I'd only be homeless for a few days at most.

It was a very welcome change for me with the very notably drastically lowered stress levels. At first, I thought I would just go right back to developing my game that I had been working on for the past couple years at that point already. I tried getting into it again, but at that point I started feeling considerably unmotivated to keep working on it. I thought back to how I'd been through so much abuse because of my parents, which had culminated in being abandoned to the streets and suddenly losing all development momentum, having to wait almost three months before I could even possibly find it viable to start up again, and I realized I needed to take some time to step back and do deep introspection and reflect on the impact that all the trauma I'd had to deal with had on me. Before long, I started to gravitate more towards philosophical and psychological contemplation as opposed to game development.

I reflected a lot on my past traumas.

I thought about all the abusive experiences that I've had to deal with when dealing with both of my parents and I let the anger flow through me. I wrote sometimes to let the steam out. A few months went by this way, and for quite some time I felt like I wasn't really making any progress with my life and I started to worry about if I'll ever really get over all the bullshit I've had to deal with in my life.

One day though, as I was thinking about everything, it just kind of hit me. Bidirectional apprehension. It was something I'd never heard another person speak in my life, but I realized that all my contemplation and my deep introspection led me to this concept. I could sense an even greater depth in the topic than that which I was immediately aware of upon the initial discovery. I immediately realized that I had come across a field that seemed to be neither directly psychology nor directly philosophy but instead was a hybrid, a field best suited to a name entirely of its own that had not been established yet.

Philopsychology was what I decided was the most appropriate thing to call it. For the more technically inclined, it can also be referred to as philopsychological analysis.

I was very excited upon initially making this discovery. I felt like a new chapter in my life had began. I no longer felt simply like a bruised weak pathetic victim of my unfortunate life circumstances, and instead I started to feel like I finally was starting to get some of the rewards that I deserved in my life for overcoming all the hardships that I had.

Not very long after that, I got to see some crazy Illuminati shit and became a Permanent Chief of the Shadow Confederation.


After realizing how powerful I now had become, I figured I should try giving my father one more chance to show a different side of him, one he hopefully had, where he was an actually loving person. One final opportunity to prove to me that he wasn't the piece of complete shit I thought he was from his actions thus far. Instead of just scaring him and telling him he's fucked straight up in the future no matter what he does, I decided to contact him and tell him about my newfound power and that if he helped support me once again with food and shelter, I'd be able to have an easier time making something of myself, and I had something to show for it already to prove what I was saying.

What happened was after I first left my father's house because he threatened to kill me, he sent me some emails trying to get me to come back. At that point, I knew I never intended to see him ever again and I was so sick of his abuse and bullshit that I literally told him to fuck off and drink bleach. He kept bothering me so I argued with him for a few more pretty short messages and unsurprisingly his attitude didn't change. I ended it by basically telling him that there was no way I was coming back after he threatened to kill me and especially after he denied it right after, that I was cutting him out of my life and never wished to hear from or speak to him ever again, and that he shouldn't have his hopes up for my brother coming back either.

Several months went by and even the new year came, and I wasn't bothered by my father for quite some time. Eventually however, he once again started sending me emails. He contacted me with no apology or anything, literally just casually asked me to tell my brother to call him. I told him to stop talking to me, but he kept spamming me. I had to tell him that I now knew gang members and murderers and that I'd pay them to hurt him if he didn't stop bothering me, before he finally shut up and left me alone.

It actually wasn't too long after that when I became a member of the Shadow Confederation and decided to see if giving my father a final chance to change could be worth it. Since I now had a considerably strong position, I knew I didn't have to be nearly so afraid of being killed or physically harmed by him, as I'd be able to enter into any further contact with him notifying him that he'd be killed if he harmed me. Additionally, I was in a position of power such that if there was any possibility of being respected and treated properly by him, it was now or never. I called him up and told him I wanted to talk.

He met me the same day.

He wanted to pick me up at my house, but I told him to pick me up at an intersection not too far away instead, because I obviously didn't trust him, and he accepted. He picked me up and took me to his office to talk. I showed him my website at that point with the papers I'd already written at that point, explaining to him about bidirectional apprehension as a core value and the Shadow Confederation that I was now a part of. I read some of it out to him, to which he pretty quickly just told me to stop because he couldn't even really understand the complex language and he could see where I was going with it that there was clearly depth and meaning in what I said and that I actually achieved something with myself during the time that I had distanced myself from him.

Regardless, he was still extremely disrespectful to me.

He started being abusive and bullying me just like he had in the past, as if I literally hadn't changed at all, even after all the things I'd presented to him and discussed just in that interaction. He was extremely rude and basically talked to me as if I had just pissed my life away the whole time I had distanced myself from him and I was no different from the person that I had been when I left his house and pushed him away so many months prior after he threatened to kill me. I was absolutely livid.

I straight up told him that he's a stupid piece of shit and that I was done with him and felt I was very clearly wasting my time with any further interaction with him at that point. I asked him to simply drop me off back at the intersection he picked me up at, otherwise I'd walk, and that he can deal with whatever's in his future past that point. He had threatened to kill me because I couldn't convince my brother to return to his abusive environment, so I had no issue letting him know that the Shadow Confederation was not going to look at him favorably with his shitty attitude and severe reluctance to give me the respect I deserved in my position.

I reminded him that I was now a Permanent Chief of the Shadow Confederation and that he'd do best not to waste my time any further, as his life was already at considerable risk with the attitude he was giving me. He was also angry, obviously because it had become clear his manipulation and bullying wasn't working, so he agreed to just drive me back to the intersection and drop me off there. I thought that was the last I'd ever have to talk to him.

To my surprise, the next day, he called me and left voicemail. He told me that he had thought about it and he realized that he could die at any moment. He literally included that someone could crash into his car and kill him and make it look like an accident and that after he thought about it, he realized that life was too short and he wanted to help support me. I was left under the impression that he was planning to be more respectful to me and my position, so I decided to call him back and give him an opportunity to provide food and shelter for me once again.

Just like the first time I lived with him, at the beginning, things seemed pretty good.

He definitely at least seemed to have more respect towards me and treated me with the awareness that I wasn't the same moron that he abusively threatened to kill many months prior, and he actually even quite quickly spent a couple thousand to buy me a more expensive PC rig for my game development. At that point, I was on the most expensive computer setup I'd ever had in my life by far and I was back in a much bigger house with better access to food and no longer had to worry about my day to day survival.

Basically, I was in a really good position to start working on my game development once again.

Now, I did truly have every intention to continue game development work full-force, I did start working on it once again, however I continued to think about my newfound knowledge on a daily basis and I figured that if I had managed to influence my father in the way that I had with the knowledge that I had gained, that perhaps I could do more with it than just that, opening up other opportunities for myself on top of my game development endeavors.


I thought about it, and after not too long, I realized that there wasn't really much that I deeply wanted nor many people I wanted to reach out to. I wanted really badly to have a girlfriend and a meaningful love-filled relationship with a woman I found very attractive. I basically immediately considered any woman in my past completely nonviable as a romantic partner, because I just considered them a part of my past and figured that I should move on with my life and they most likely already long had, and on top of that none of them were the dreamy person I was looking for.

I already knew about Twitch at that point, and basically I decided to take it a little slower with game development and spend some time daily looking around more and seeing how I'd end up developing my interactions and connections with people.

I already knew about Kimi at that point, and I decided I now had a solid enough foundation in my life and the sufficient confidence to start becoming an active part of her community. I started talking in her stream chat regularly. I also talked to a bunch of other girls at first, but Kimi was the only one that was really receptive and I also thought she was the most attractive and appealing of all the other girls so I pursued being a part of her community will all my focus and effort I was putting into my romantic endeavors and basically I decided that I would slow down on my game development in order to pursue my main goal and in fact my goal that was more important than game development, the reason why I was doing game development and chasing fame and fortune in the first place, to find the girl of my dreams. A very attractive woman that I felt I really clicked with that likes games like me, and I figured that Twitch was the best place for that because it was a platform for gamers.

Kimi was the most attractive woman I'd ever encountered in my life, and I felt like our personalities clicked right from the beginning, amazingly enough, so I was very quickly drawn to her and she started taking more and more of my time and attention. As I kept becoming further involved and invested in Kimi's life, I further slowed down on my game development in order to pursue her as best as I could. To my surprise, this worked out very well, and that's when my history with Kimi started. She met me within less than a month after I subscribed to her, and basically that's where our love story really started going strong.

The very same day that I moved back in with my father, he'd actually told me to contact my brother and encourage him to come back as well. I was reluctant and didn't do so at first, but he kept insisting and I figured in the end that throwing it out there as a suggestion couldn't hurt. I talked to my brother and within not too long my brother also ended up coming back and so because of me my brother now was being supported by my father once again as well. Although he was living much more comfortably once again because of me, it didn't stop him from judging me for my methods and threatening my father's life with the Shadow Confederation and all that, but he didn't complain much after I reminded him that he was living much more comfortably once again because of me.

Not very long after we both came back to living with our father, he sold his house and moved to a new one he'd bought quite some time back that had recently been finished being built to the point it was inhabitable. The new circumstances were pretty nice in the beginning, I had considerably more comfort to allow me to pursue Kimi with all of my efforts every day, and I put a lot of effort into that, while also working here and there on game development and also website development.

Although I'd work on other things sometimes, I found that I'd pretty quickly started thinking about Kimi a lot after starting to talk to her, especially after I met her in person. I actually pretty quickly started making her basically the focal point of my life and not so much that I would necessarily shower her with attention and affection, at least not for a good part of the beginning of our relationship, but I would think about her almost all the time and I'd think about how I should interact with her and how I could get closer to her. I'd dream about getting to date her in the future and think about my ideal future prospects with her in my life.

My brother was in a better position than he'd been when he first left my father's house as well. He'd been writing a book and had finished and sold several copies of it, and had saved up some money. He was still pretty lost in his life as far as future goals and prospects go, which would result in my father continuing to nag him, but I'd just stay out of it and it didn't really become a problem for me.

Although my father was more respectful to me at first, as time passed, he gradually but after not very long started being disrespectful towards my work once again.

Although I was spending a lot of time pursuing Kimi, I was still making progress on my game development as well, but my father didn't even care to look and simply found it as not enough. He started to disregard the significance of my position as Permanent Chief of the Shadow Confederation more and more. Before very long, he started full-on criticizing me for not having formal employment and demanding that I start paying for my own food, telling me that if I wasn't going to work a formal job then I wasn't allowed to eat any of the food in the house. He didn't state any consequences for doing so, but if I simply ignored his demand, he'd come home from work and be abusively starting fights over it every single day.

He started stressing me out with his abusive disrespect far too much for me to find it viable to remain in that environment.


I gave it a few days at first when my father would fight with me over me eating the food at home, to see if he'd see reason and stop. I kept reminding him the reason I was there in the first place, and that I was very clearly working towards tangible goals to start making money in the future, even though I didn't yet have a consistent revenue stream. I decided that instead of leaving outright, since the whole point was that I was giving him a chance, I'd make sure I was truly giving him the best chance I could before finalizing my position and deciding never to look back.

After about a week passed and I saw he was still fighting with me literally daily and he had no intent to see reason, I decided I had to leave again and do whatever it took to make something of myself without any proper help from my father. He'd literally complain to me that even if I ended up great, it was only "on his shoulders" instead of all by myself with no help whatsoever, clearly very upset that I ever expected to deserve even that much from him. He seemed to want to make it very clear to me that he had no intention to ever be a good, kind, loving, helpful father to me, so I decided I'd give him what he wanted and let him firmly establish his place in my life as an abusive piece of shit psychopath.

I decided I was going to be homeless again this time. I had been homeless before, so I was more prepared and I didn't pack three huge bags for myself. I took a few days to sort through all my belongings and really pick only more important things. I wasn't feeling terrified for my life like the previous time, so I took a little longer than the previous time, but within less than a week I was ready to leave. I told my brother about it the day before I decided to do it; we smoked some weed and talked it over a little but he understood why I was doing it.

I explained to him that it was what I had to do because I wasn't being respected. I had to be able to eat my food in peace and I didn't want to deal with the constant fights that hindered at my ability to do what I needed to do every day. At that point, I was both working through my relationship with Kimi as well as my game development endeavors that I still hadn't fully put on hold for Kimi yet, so the added stress from fighting stupid fights I should've never had to go through was simply too much.

I woke up the following morning ready to leave. I was the only one home because my father went to work and my brother was gone downtown. As I went downstairs to eat some food before I left, I noticed a note on the door. I went up to it and read it. My father had basically left a note saying that he loved me and it was my decision if I wanted to leave; it looked like my brother had informed him I was intending to leave, even though I told him not to.

I knew it was a complete lie and he certainly didn't act in any way truly congruent with his claim; I was originally planning to simply pick up my bags and leave, but reading that message made me genuinely upset that he was now trying to even manipulate me into sticking around so he could keep being abusive. I decided I was going to do some damage and fuck the inside of the house up before I left.

I spent a good while doing so. Threw all kinds of picture frames around and smashed them to pieces, destroyed the TV, took all the eggs in the fridge and threw them all over the walls of the house, literally took everything in the fridge and freezer and opened it and threw it around the house. I even took body wash and spilled it all across the floor. At the end, I wrote a nice "fuck you" message right on the wall near the entrance, opened my father's laptop and started playing NF's "Green Lights" on loop, took a video of all the chaos that I still have to this day, picked up my bags and left. I closed the door behind me but left it unlocked as I'd intentionally left my key inside; I wanted him to know I was never coming back.

My brother later informed me that my father wasn't pressing charges.

"That's right," I told him, "That bastard better not think of causing me any more problems if he doesn't want problems with the Shadow Confederation."

I also learned that his insurance actually allowed him to get a new TV and fix up his house, and in the end, he basically ended up in a better position than if I hadn't trashed the place. Interesting how that worked out so well for him; it almost looks like he'd thought about it long ahead of time and intended for it to happen, doesn't it?


Thus began my journey being homeless once again.

I went from place to place a few times before I decided to settle on being homeless as my intentional lifestyle. I initially ended up homeless for about a week. I mostly hung around a library and simply didn't shower or eat. I focused on finding a place and managed to get one; I stayed there for a few months.

Initially, I was thinking of continuing to work on game development, but I'd been reflecting a lot during that week of homelessness and I quickly realized that Kimi meant so much to me that my game development endeavors felt futile without her in my life. I stuck around that place for a few months, but as my connection with Kimi progressed, my caring for anything else in life diminished. I reached the point where I was so upset at her mixed signals that I decided I was going to fly to LA to meet Ice Poseidon and stream snipe him (I'd learned his address from a member of his Discord server) and it seemed like perfect timing since my lease was running out anyways.

My lease ran out and I was back on the streets as I was finalizing my plan to visit LA on my mission to stream snipe Ice and expose Kimi's connection with me. It was quite an experience. After I got back, I decided to try getting a place one more time for a while to see how my connection with Kimi would further develop. It was during this time that I wrote The International Ultimatum. After I saw that it wasn't sufficient to get the kind of response from Kimi I wanted, I decided to give up on having a place entirely and simply resign myself to being homeless to allow myself to really start preparing for the isolation that was starting to seem more and more certain already would end up happening at the end of the year.

I adapted my habits and behavior to suit my environment and found the right places for internet, electricity, showering, washing my clothes, and sleeping. After having experienced being homeless multiple times in the past already, I was travelling with just the right amount of things I needed to maintain a decent enough appearance and also function to keep up with progressing my connection with Kimi and figuring out what I was going to do with my time while I waited. I reflected deeply on my life very intensely once more and came up with the idea to write this book.

As I wrote this book more and more, I remembered back to the final contact I had with my brother, where he'd told me my father was offering to give me money, to which I'd shot him down. I realized that in order to have a fully comprehensive view of the kind of person my father really was and be able to be honest about it, I needed to contact him once more to confirm his real intentions in having done so. I contacted my father once again about the time he offered to give me money. I told him about the book I was writing and told him that if he was willing to give me money, I could use it for both food as well as funding to publish paper copies of my book that I was planning to give away before I went into isolation.

He gave me some bullshit about not having any to give and living solely off pension, although I knew that his mortgage was paid off and he'd sold his business building for over $300,000 which must've been sitting in his bank account. He still denied having any money to spare. I told him he should show me a bank statement for all his accounts to prove it then, to which he obviously immediately declined without even thinking about it. I told him he hadn't changed and I knew he was full of shit, but thanked him for proving it so I could write it in my book, and told him never to call me or try to talk to me ever again. I hung up. I never talked to him again and have absolutely no desire to.


Because of all the trauma I suffered throughout my life, I subconsciously fundamentally believed that logic was the only way to remain grounded and in tune with the reality around you, however at the same time emotionally felt unsettled that it might never be enough.

This, I have come to realize, was largely a result of all my past experiences where no matter how rational I had been with my parents, they always found some emotionally abusive way to traumatize me further, fundamentally strengthening the subconscious belief I had ended up forming that despite logic being the best way to align yourself with reality in an unbounded fashion, it still had some form of inconceivable bound that nobody could ever overcome.

This living in perpetual fear of existence became my reality and my identity. Upon understanding this, I felt liberated from that fundamental, subconsciously rooted fear. One may attempt to argue that I should be grateful my parents were so abusive, since it led to me having a much greater mental fortitude and emotional resilience, however they couldn't have been treating me the way that they did while knowing that I could and would overcome it, and I would've ended up in a much worse situation, probably either dead or close to it already by now, had I not managed to somehow just barely hang on to hope that things would eventually change for me and have the strength and willpower to see that hope through consistently.

Even still, that hope has become only more of a curse in and of itself, as even as I'm writing this book, I'm finding it harder every day to see any good reason to remain hopeful for any positive outcome in my life.

Nowadays, my friends are my family. The fact that I don't seem to have any real friends either makes it very clear to me that if things are as they seem, nothing would bring me greater satisfaction than extending the undying pure hatred I have in my heart towards my biological family onto the entirety of humanity and single-handedly destroying the entire world as a result.

One must understand pure love in order to understand pure hatred. It's only through being immensely loving and having your heart and soul crushed and being left devastated that you can truly understand the value of having deep hatred in your heart and soul as well. After everything I've been through and all the love I've constantly tried to give, all I've ended up getting is pure hatred.

I never had any room to feel safe, comfortable, calm, or happy at all. Every time, I had to try so hard to always keep my composure and be far more rational than others were being, just so I could retain any sense of self-esteem and sanity. To make things even worse, if I've ever tried to share my pain, most people seem to automatically take bias towards my parents even without having any clue how they are like and have tried to tell me that basically I'm just a bitch and don't appreciate what they did for me. Yeah, I won't ever appreciate how abusive my own fucking biological family of all people were constantly, that's for fucking sure. I won't ever appreciate how ignorant and dismissive most people I tried to talk to about it were either.