The day I realized I was the punch line of every family joke was the same day I realized I was going to hell. To my family hell wasn’t a literal place but, a figurative one for in-average children or adults that didn’t amount to much. I’d love to say that I was the product of a broken home but that would be far from the truth. Far enough not to have lost my mind anyway although still to this day I blame the past for my present dramatism despite majority of it being self-inflicted. As I look back, it seems to me I've been preparing this memoir most of my life. This story, my story….is a confession. Just like any confession it’s something that I need to get off of my chest. There isn’t any My family tree is deep rooted in fights, drama, scathing
