Born July 1967 with a sense of death and foreboding

I was born in July 1967 with a strong sense of fear, death and foreboding as I became the constant reminder to both families I was born into as the Patriarchs passed away within the first two year of my life.

This left me with a sense that I was hated as a constant reminder which was only confirmed for at least two Grandmother’s who when we were alone told me how much I reminded them of their dead husbands.  I was very young when this started happening and it left an indelible mark on my psyche without fail.

While a young boy I watched some of my favorite relatives die slowly in hospital beds in their kitchens.  I can tell you that born under the sign of Cancer in Astrology only helped to confirm my fear that my life was brought about to bring about death to others.  With that sense came a fateful decision I knew would eventually one way or another come true, I was going to die all alone.

I could no longer bare to watch others die in front of me, go through their funerals, dealing with the nightmares.  Some of those nightmares were so real they would scare me enough to beg for someone to care for my body the way I wanted it done, no matter what. 

I couldn’t bare to fall in love for fear that they would either die in front of my eyes or they would be forced to watch my slow mental decline that seems to be unstoppable leaving me to hope my body would quit before my mind took my soul for good. 

I couldn’t stand to have anyone watch my mental faculties take over what life I had left so I would become so angry, outraged at them for doing nothing at all till I pushed them away.  Or begged so hard for emotional feelings I can’t feel inside like Love, I have no idea what real, true love actually feels like.  I know the emotional high of the beginning of a relationship but that’s it.

And so I sit in my home alone, my kids hate me because as far as I am concerned I deserved it.  I can’t deal with most of my own family who in my youth seemed destined to make me pay for reminding them of what they had lost when I was born.  Each family holiday was a chance for them to pick, poke and torment me in ways I’d rather they’d killed me instead. 

At times when I got older going so far as to tell me I didn’t even know how to my job in the Army for which was in charge of for a while after an unfortunate choice by the soldier above me in rank.  If I had told them they didn’t know how to do their jobs I would have been persecuted for it.  Most of my early twenties after having been discharged (Honorably) having began to lose my mind and attempt suicide several times.  My own father thought I was just a lazy bum till he finally saw me later in his life for what I really was, a man with a mental disorder that was eating at my spirit, my happiness, my soul.  It was too late.