Introduction

The truth is I am a curious person. I have no friends and feel frustrated about it. Nobody calls me on the phone, including my family, nobody knows where my heart is and nobody actually cares what I do. At my mid thirties, with a family that I can barely support, a job with almost no prospects, minimal help and having given up almost all of the things I used to enjoy, there's constant anger concealed under an energetic self. All of the injustices I have to put up with, all the patience I need to go through one single day, all the suppressed force that some day will be let loose, all the ideas that steamcook in my head, are powered by great, unbelievably horrible, anger. Even when I'm happy, I still feel the anger ready to jump at my own throat. Sometimes, when I look at myself in the mirror I see a monster, though most find me handsome. Always suspicious, always disillusioned, sometimes with my pink glasses on but more often in the darkest of moods, I feel like the trip through life holds no good surprises. A complete misfit trying to act normal, not always succeeding but doing my best day after day after day not to let anyone know that I am actually crazy, or at least feel that way. I could go on for ever but there is no point; everyone gets the point I suppose.