A Not So Smooth Entrance

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Scientists say it’s impossible to remember things that occurred during the first couple years of life. I am the exception. I remember the day I was born in horrifying detail. I remember because it was the first time my life flashed before my eyes. I remember being thrust from the safety of my warm cavern into the freezing hands of who I could only assume was my executioner.  He shined a death ray into my eyes that im sure must have planted the seed of brain cancer deep inside my pineal gland. He sliced my belly cord with the same primal brutality with which a lion severs the jugular of his prey. My blood spewed across the floor. Luckily another doctor who must’ve been well learned in the art of tying off water baloons saw his colleagues murderous look of insanity and lept into action tying my cord off before I bled out on the spot. My savior must have gone to call for help to stop his mad medical partner leaving me alone with the mad man once again and he beat me ruthlessly as if he’d caught me sleeping with his daughter (which I later in life indeed did do, partly as revenge, partly because she was years older, extremely hot,  and supplied my reefer habit) then he tossed me under a heat lamp like a pan of fried chicken at a Bob Evans all you can eat buffet. I’m also certain his roughing me up caused permanent back and muscular problems. It’s important to note that I wasn’t able to walk for close to two years after our first meeting. (His daughter wasn’t able to walk for almost two days after ours, hehe) Had my thumb not found its way near my mouth distracting me I may be able to recount the attack in much greater detail. PTSD may also be partly to blame. I must have repressed much of the experience as the trauma was too great and my fragile mind couldn’t bear the reality of it. I was 5 minutes old, already had hypothermia, was sliced open, had been beaten to a pulp, nearly choked on god knows what, been infected with brain cancer,  and was suffering early signs of PTSD causing extreme anxiety, emotional outbursts, uncontrollable crying and ADD. This was just the beginning. Within minutes I was put into a straight jacket like blanket wrap to calm my trauma induced outbursts and to prevent me from protecting myself against the horrors yet to come. Next a sexy but sinister nurse scooped me up like a poop filled diaper she was scared to touch. I thought she would pinch my toes with her thumb and forefinger and carry me upside down while holding her nose. She made her way to another lady who was laying in a bed looking sickly and as if she had just rolled out of a cardboard box filled with wool blankets on a humid summer day. She was surely homeless. Covered in sweat, her hair resembled Medusas. Before I could react the homeless woman shoved her sweaty breast into my face nearly smothering me. I can’t speak of what followed. It’s too dark for a blog and my shame is too great. Let’s just say it was similar to a person being kidnapped and forced to take heroin. As much as they know it’s wrong and initially fight it, natural biology causes the person to crave and need it even  once they are given a choice and set free. I like them, was a victim. Over the following days I was pumped with this breast heroin, poked and prodded, had needles injecting me with autism, cancer,  probably herpes as well. At least thats where I tell my girlfriend it came from. What came next was torture.  My homeless caretaker handed me off to a group of masked intruders. I was taken into a small torture dungeon where they pulled a knife on me. They asked me questions in a language I wasn’t familiar with. Perhaps they were testing me. Either way, my lack of answers didn’t satisfy them so they pulled my loin cloth back and without hesitation sliced the tip of my wanker clean off. Worried that they may cut the whole thing off, I told them all that I knew. I screamed and begged for mercy. It worked. They put the knife away. This was how I spent the first days of my life. Feel lucky you can’t remember.

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