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Mon, Jan. 16th, 2006, 01:31 pm
Some of my life in review.

I was talking to some folks today in a text medium. People were talking about siblings that died young. I thought of my brother Russell, and the floodgates of typing opened. I got to the point where I realized I was just depressing people. So I'm going to put it all here, and they can read if they want, rather than having it forceably inflicted on them. In this chat setting I am 'Jamethon'.


Jamethon had a brother die that, if he had lived, I would never have been born.

Lenny says "Why would you not have been born?"
Chriscakes guesses they wouldn't have wanted another?

You say "Ahem. Back to that. My parents had a plan for 4 children. Two older and two younger. So the two 'groups' could be there for each other and be each other's support and friend. They had 4 boys. The fourth son, Russell, got out of the house, through a safety fence, and drowned in the pool."

Helen whoas.
Lenny eeps.

You say "A little while after that happened, my mother said to my father: It's time to have another boy. When my father died while my mom was 6 month's pregnant with me, my mother lost all faith in God. Then when I was born she told her sister (my Godmother), that I was born 'To bring joy back to the family.'"

You say "She said I restored her faith. It wasn't what it once was, but it was there."

You say "Everytime I hear that story, I can't help but think I somehow didn't do my job."

Chriscakes says "Wow."
Yi is sure you did your part, James.
Helen awws and hugs James. I think you did fine.

Jamethon chuckles. "Thanks."

Sophie hugs the Jamethon. That's a pretty intense family story.
Cries-No-More says "Wow."

You say "It mostly was before my birth. Not much that I experienced personally."
Helen flees. Lunch!
Helen has disconnected.

Jamethon does believe in Ghosts though. Or something like them. My father would come to my bedside when I was very young and sit by me till I fell asleep. Later on, years down the road, I heard that the same happened for my oldest brother Sam, who blamed himself for Russell's death.

You say "Russell was apparently pretty annoying as a kid, as kids are. He went to my brother's door which was locked. Inside the two older brothers and their friends were hanging out. They wouldn't let Russell in, and so in looking for something to do, apparently made his way out to the pool. My brother Ken (second oldest), found him at the bottom of the pool."
Cries-No-More has disconnected.

Jamethon didn't know this story until recently, but found it disturbing in that I too was annoying to my 3 older brother's and their friends, and found myself locked out of the rooms. I was just persistant. I would go cry to my mom who forced my brothers to let me in with them.

Yi says "Eep."

You say "I enjoyed school till I was about 9, when while in 3rd grade I knocked a candle out of a menorah which landed on my shirt and set me on fire. I was alone at the time. I screamed, ran into the bathroom, and locked the door. I ripped off the blazing shirt with my bare hands and curled up sitting on the toilet. Afraid I would get in trouble."

Brom leans on James.

Yi says "You have such a... an exciting childhood."

Jamethon, when he got back to school, couldn't do it any more. I hated it. I kept getting passed on to the next grade despite doing no work at all. Before that fire, I loved school. When I was done with my work, I would ask for more to do.

You say "That habit of hatred and laziness persisted through High School and into College, which I only joined years after leaving High School to stop by brother from bothering me about it. During High School, I cut out of more than 200 days from the four years. The only thing that made it possible for me to pass at all was being in the Advanced Performing Chorus, and being well liked by my teachers."

Jamethon charmed them into letting me make up everything I needed during the last two weeks of High School. I graduated with a 2.7. My friend who worked his ass off all four years got a 2.85. He wasn't happy with me.

Jamethon was more apt to sleep or read a book during class then anything resembling school work, except for the very few classes I enjoyed. Basically, all the classes where I could actually learn something.

Jamethon /never/ did school work and often conned my mother into believing I had. I would actually do fake school work that was about a quarter of what I needed to do on the bus ride home, and pass it off as the completed thing. I hated getting in trouble for being late and I wasn't about to run to my locker between each class, so I carried all my books with me. I had a huge back pack. Got made fun of alot for that. One day, I was knocked over onto my back and had the wind knocked out of me from landing on the backpack.

Jamethon has one particular time of his life that he always glosses over. Its embarrassing to an n-th degree. Maybe some day if I'm famous enough to write a book on my life story, it'll be in there. Suffice it to say I did strange things to get attention in 4th grade and got a hurtful nickname for it.

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I wrote one more thing there. But I lost it. Heres what I remember:

I was often kicked out of my room when I was young and made to sleep on the couch so friends... 'guests'... could have a place to sleep. Sometimes they even lived with us for a time and I didn't even have a room. I became used to sleeping on the couch. To this day I still prefer it. One night, my brother and a bunch of his friends came into the living room (where the couch I slept on was) and woke me up, sending me to 'my room'. I felt like I was in /my room/ and didn't want to go anywhere. They kept forcing me to leave so that they could all have a fun time watching porn. Eventually tired and frustrated, I ran out of the house. I hoped someone would care enough to come after me. No one even stepped outside. When I finally came back in, they were watching some other movie, I don't remember what.

They didn't so much as say hello to me, they were 'upset' with me, as if everything was my fault. I went into the kitchen and grabbed a knife, and stood in a position pretending to be considering slitting my wrists. Hoping someone would come in and care enough to try and stop me, or at least get 'mad'. I stood there for half an hour before someone came into the kitchen. A friend, not family. He looked at me and said 'Sure. Whatever.'. It never occured to him that I might be serious. I wasn't. I didn't care if I died, but I couldn't handle the pain before hand. I put the knife away and in utter exhausted frustration, climbed the stairs up to what would be my room, and passed out on the bed.

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