How To Spot The Sociopathic Cult Leader In Your Life.

Like a magician, a cult leader is a master of making you see what he or she wants you to see. They control the illusion.

Let's face it... we all know a sociopath or two in our life. Whether it be an immediate family member, relative or friend, there's always that one person that's just a little crazy, but in the smart and controlling way. Sometimes, that person's dysfunction will go even farther than that. They're not just a sociopath, but they're essentially a cult leader.

That brings me to the following question. How do you spot a cult leader?

It's a good thing you read my blog. You're about to find out!

Things to look for when trying to spot a cult leader.

• They have a way with words. They're not just smart -- they're damn smart. No matter what situation a cult leader encounters, they can usually talk their way out of it (or INTO it, if need be). They are masters of storytelling and captivating an audience. Criticism rarely holds up against a cult leader because they always have a great explanation just waiting in the back of their mind. The lies that a cult leader tells are extremely convincing -- rarely will they make logistical mistakes or forget previous lies that they've told. They are really great at keeping their story straight for as long as need be.
• A cult leader is intensively adept at influencing the emotions of others -- especially to form a relationship. Whether a friend, lover or spouse, the cult leader can weave intricate levels of apparent emotional attachment to force the other party into doing their bidding. Typically, a cult leader / sociopath will seek out submissive types of people to control. This makes their job all the easier. Once they've got their hooks in a person, the cult leader will dominate their existence. This leads me to my next point.
• If you look up the definition of a micro-manager in the dictionary, you'd probably find the image of a cult leader right next to it. When it comes to those that they are dominating, a cult leader will officiate and oversee every aspect of that person's daily routine. They are told how to perform even simple, mundane tasks. Brush your teeth this way. Stack these boxes this way. Drive your car this way. Wear your clothes this way. Tie your shoes this way. Dig this hole this way. If the demands of the cult leader are violated in any way, they will immediately explode with anger. To disregard the commands of a cult leader is to defy their authority -- that's a huge no-no.
• Cult leaders have no sense of guilt. No matter how many times a cult leader hits you, or takes your possessions, or makes a mistake, they are never wrong. This is why most spousal and child abusers are essentially cult leaders -- they never feel guilty for beating on their children or their spouse. It's never their responsibility for striking them; the victim must have done something wrong to deserve the punishment. In some instances, the cult leader will forcibly forget that they even harmed someone or made a mistake. Other times, they will use their powers of emotional influence and smooth things over, making it appear as if everything is alright. This rolls into the next bit of information.
• Unsurprisingly, cult leaders are masters of illusion. They know exactly how to make their life and the lives of those around them APPEAR to be normal, without it actually being so. A sociopathic cult leader is highly skilled at dressing their home and their behavior to look just right. They treat life like a stage -- sets can be changed, actors can learn new lines, the lighting can be adjusted to hide imperfections in the costumes. It's all just one, big theater production -- and they're the director.
• If a cult leader isn't the center of attention, then they are not happy. That's one of the whole points of their existence. They crave constant approval and praise, often to the detriment of others. A cult leader must be reminded constantly of how important they are -- that's why they surround themselves with willing submissives to lead.
• The emotional output of a sociopath / cult leader is rarely genuine. Most well-adjusted individuals can tell when a person isn't being sincere. This isn't true for those that are being dominated by a cult leader, whom can not see that they are being duped.
• If a person is surrounded by family, friends or followers whom consistently don't recognize that they're being taken advantage of, then that person is probably a cult leader. Such sociopaths have a knack for keeping those around them in the dark. Their submissives simply don't see that they're not in control, much to their disadvantage.
• Cult leaders are often susceptible to outbursts of anger and rage. This is because of their internal struggle to feel like they're in control. Hence, their never-ending desire to control others. When things don't seem to be going their way, or a follower disobeys a command, their emotional state can flip almost instantaneously. One minute they're sipping a drink quietly, the next they're shoving you into a wall and kicking your ass. Twenty minutes after that, they're calm again.
• Finally, cult leaders / sociopaths are talented at making their beliefs seem like a religion. It's no coincidence that cult leaders regularly weave a religious doctrine into their life. In many documented instances, cult leaders like to be at the head of a religious organization or movement. That way, it appears to their submissives that not only are they obeying their leader, but they're also appeasing some higher power.

So, tell me. How many of you know a sociopathic cult leader? Share your stories and let us compare notes.

Living In Hell: The Life Of A Feral Child.

What's more sad, pitiful, depressing and frightening than a feral child?

Throughout recorded history, cases of genuine feral children do turn up. What is a feral child? It's a condition linked to a child being left alone in the wild by unwanting parents, often because of a mental or physical disability. Once alone, they'll often find themselves raised by another wild animal, eventually becoming a member of some another species' community. Feral children can also erupt from severe abuse as a direct result of isolation from human contact. Kids whom are locked in single rooms, attics or basements with no outside interaction often become feral.

The only known photo of Ramachandra.

One of the strangest and most well-documented cases is that of a boy known only as Ramachandra. He was found in the early 1970's in the Uttar Pradesh region of India. Eyewitnesses stated that he acted like an amphibian and ate raw meat. He could walk, but with a very awkward gait and typically preferred to crawl. More often than not, Ramachandra would be found spending his time in the local river, much like a frog. By 1979, he'd been forced into living a modern life by villagers, with poor results. In 1982, a woman killed him with a pot of boiling water. Claims state that the woman was frightened by his approach and she acted in self defense.

Natasha, a five year old girl from Chita, Siberia, was found in 2009 by local Russian police. She'd been locked in a room with cats and dogs since before the age of two. Her behavior was not human-like at all. She would bark and jump at caretakers upon them leaving her room. Natasha ate food from a dish like a dog and never used her hands. She crawled on all fours. Given that the news is from one of the most remote locations on the planet, any further news about her survival has not been released.

Another troubling case from Russia involves a nameless boy. After the story of his horrible existence broke in 2008, he was referred to in local newspapers as the Russian Bird Boy. The boy's mother had locked him naked in a two-room apartment filled with a variety of birds. She never spoke to him and treated him completely like any other pet. Upon discovery, law enforcement were shocked to find that the boy would chirp to communicate with the birds living around him. He would also flap his arms to communicate, much like the birds.

This photo of Genie was taken a few weeks after her rescue. She was being cared for at the Los Angeles Children's Hospital. Genie had what was known as a "bunny walk".

One of the most famous cases of a feral child is that of Genie, which is a pseudonym as to protect her real name. She was discovered by child protective services in Los Angeles, California on November 4, 1970. Genie's father, for reasons unknown, decided that she was mentally handicapped while still a baby. By the age of twenty months, he'd locked her in a room alone. Genie remained in that room until she was approximately thirteen years old (her birth date is not known). Her father indicated after his arrest that he left Genie strapped to a child's training toilet or tied to a crib for most of her existence. Genie could not speak, nor did she understand any of the typical social constructs that most children gain in their early years. Genie is still alive and resides as a ward of the state of California. In her time, she has learned a few words, but usually communicates through rudimentary sign language.

I find it amazing how children can be such a clean slate from which to grow and change. Given the right tools, care and social interaction, a human child can grow into a responsible adult. Yet, if children are isolated and abused, they can grow to never be human at all. I believe this says a great deal about how important love and compassion are when raising a child.

The Startling Facts on Child Abuse.

Before I begin with today's article, I'd like to give a warm welcome to all of my new readers. I've spoken with many of you directly over the past few days. Your readership is very much appreciated. I hope you'll stick around!

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Thanks to some recent discussions about my own experiences as a youth dealing with child abuse, I started doing some digging. I was curious as to the raw numbers relating to the prevalence of child abuse in modern America. What I found was troubling, to say the least. After compiling this data set over the past few days, I'd like to share with you what I determined. Unfortunately, it's not good news.

As the statistics currently show, approximately one out of every ten children in the United States is a documented victim of some form of child abuse -- whether that be physical, emotional or sexual in nature. The reported numbers between boys and girls is relatively even. More than 1600 children were killed by a perpetrator of child abuse in 2012, of which one of the parents was responsible nearly 80% of the time. That translates to roughly five children dying a day at the hands of their abusers.

When it relates to how child abuse affects a person as they grow into adulthood, the numbers continue to be horrific. Females whom suffered abuse as a child are 25% more likely to experience pregnancy as a teenager. 46% of all teenage runaways are victims of physical abuse; 17% are victims of sexual abuse. You're 59% more likely to be arrested as a juvenile and 28% more likely to be arrested as an adult. Overall, no matter the age, incarcerated individuals whom experienced child abuse correlate to over 30% of all violent crime. Across the board, those whom are locked up reflect child abuse rates that are twice the national average.

The use of illicit drugs and the abuse of prescription medication and alcohol is clearly linked to child neglect, accounting for nearly 65% of all individuals in drug treatment programs. In terms of health, child abuse doesn't end there. As adults, victims are alarmingly more prone to asthma, high blood pressure, respiratory diseases, eating disorders, allergies, post traumatic stress disorder, dissociative disorder, depression and periods of extreme anger. More than 80% of all documented child abuse victims meet the criteria for one or more psychiatric disorders by age 21.

Scholastic performance is traumatically affected by child abuse as well. When a child is abused, they are 50% more likely to do poorly in school. 30% of abused students develop a cognitive or language impairment. Of students whom are diagnosed with a learning disorder, child abuse increases your chances by 22%.

The numbers don't lie -- child abuse creates adults whom are less healthy, less scholastically capable, less able to function as a productive individual of society. If you calculate the impact of child abuse in pure dollars and cents, it reveals that the long term effects are quite bleak. If you were to compile the combined lifetime cost of health care, legal services, criminal justice expenditures, lost worker productivity and welfare directly linked to newly reported incidents in only one year, child abuse costs our nation annually over $125 billion.

Just when you think you've got a grasp on these statistics, you have to consider one more piece of monumental information. Most incidents of child abuse never go reported -- current estimates suggest that for every one documented case, three incidents occur without ever being known about. If you take this fact into consideration, it becomes blatantly obvious that more children are being abused than you can possibly imagine.

The most damning statistic is this -- nearly forty percent of all victims of child abuse will themselves becomes perpetrators of it in adulthood. They will continue the cycle of abuse that's seemingly never-ending.

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I have to be honest with you. When I read all of these statistics, it made me realize just how darn lucky I am. The odds were stacked heavily against me. Thankfully, the only psychiatric problems I've encountered as an adult were depression and anger. I also used food as a coping mechanism. All of those issues are under control, though. I can't change the fact that I have asthma or severe allergies; they're something I just have to contend with.

If you know of a child that is experiencing neglect and abuse, make a stand and speak up. If you're a child that's reading this article, please know that you are not alone. Child abuse only continues when victims and those whom witness it remain silent.

Call the National Child Abuse Hotline toll-free at 1-800-4-A-CHILD (1-800-422-4453). Counselors are available 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Your call will be totally confidential. It could save a life -- perhaps your own.

And remember -- share this information with your friends and family. The more people that know, the less children that suffer.

Data Sources:

• Safe Horizon - http://www.safehorizon.org/page/child-abuse-facts-56.html
• Centers for Disease Control - http://www.cdc.gov/violenceprevention/acestudy/prevalence.html
• Childhelp - https://www.childhelp.org/child-abuse-statistics//
• Education.com - http://www.education.com/reference/article/abuse-and-neglect/

An Open Letter to Lunenburg County, Virginia.

My blog this evening will be a deviation in tone from the standard articles I normally publish. Those of you who have read my blog since the beginning will recognize the ire I'm about to share. For my newer readers... buckle up.

Broad Street, Kenbridge, VA -- A road to nowhere

To the Residents of Lunenburg County,

I had an in-depth discussion with my ever-so charming sister yesterday. She informed me of a particularly troubling situation, one that many of my readers in Southside Virginia will understand the context of. Apparently, there's an issue with the local community of which my siblings and I grew up -- Lunenburg County. I feel the need to clear the air. There is a terribly inaccurate narrative of what tore the Manning family apart -- one that's been largely fabricated by my father.

Our family imploded after a series of events following the death of our mother, Joyce. It was a long time coming, but her passing was the final nail in the coffin. After years of strife, physical and emotional abuse, it all finally came to a head. A few months following Joyce's passing, my sister and father were in a heated argument in which he physically assaulted her. I know this for a fact because I spoke with my father afterwards via telephone and he admitted as much to me. This was not the first time my father has physically harmed one of his family members (myself, my sister, my mother, etc.) -- long time readers of this blog are well aware of this fact. My sister ran away in fear for her life, only to be largely ignored by social services and the police within the community. Why? Because my father has keenly developed a cult of personality, one in which he is never wrong and always the hero of the story. Since that time, there has been no relationship maintained between my father and sister, nor has there been a relationship between him and I.

The aforementioned phone call, where he admitted fault, took place on December 27, 2011. It was approximately 10 PM in the evening. That was the last time my father and I spoke. We've had no contact since that point. During that phone call, my father talked of setting his children on fire if he wished -- they were his property to do with as he pleased. He clearly did not like the harsh judgment I levied against him, considering by the end of the conversation he hung up on me. How ironic... he hung up on me in our final telephone call; I hung up on his entire existence for the rest of my life. As far as I am concerned, he's just as dead to me as my mother. I spent nearly two years expunging my anger and grief over our relationship right here on this very blog. I'm not angry at him anymore -- I'm just disappointed at how ghastly a person he is, considering his inherent potential. There was a good man inside my father at one point; that man is now gone.

This entire story relates to the experiences my sister faced when she recently returned to the Lunenburg County area for a visit with a dear friend (you know who you are -- thank you for always being there for Julie). She encountered multiple instances of public scrutiny and rude comments from strangers whom believe they know our father. Apparently, the previously mentioned false narrative has floated around that my sister betrayed our family; that she spread lies about our father beating on her. This is just not true. Everything she has stated about her experiences is accurate. The Manning Family exists as a fractured mirror -- one that reflects the deep seeded agony of a family burdened by poverty, poor parental choices, jealousy, infidelity, avarice and a cycle of abuse that goes as far back as the Mannings have been in this nation. My friends, I come from a family of turmoil. The name that I carry is one I'm not necessarily proud of, but I aim to make it as decent as possible in my time. There will be no more Mannings to carry on this name, though. We are done. I'll burden no child with the sorrowful weight that this family has to offer. Out of all the vast Manning family children, grandchildren and cousins, myself and my two brothers are the last in line to actually bear the surname. I have no children. My brothers have no children. The nefarious blood of our family tree, which at one point was quite wide with many branches, will die with our generation. An entire family name shall be wiped out... and no one will shed as much as a tear.

Now, I speak to you, the well established families of the Kenbridge, Victoria and various other Lunenburg communities. You are well aware of who you are -- the family names that have circulated in Southside Virginia for an eternity; the Lunenburg Royalty, for lack of a better term. You consider yourselves to be the elite of the community -- the same ones whom cast glances of contempt at my sister, whom allow my father to continue his fantasy. Yet, here I am to tell you what few others will -- you are hollow, inept clumps of snobbish detritus. Just as I faced ridicule and scrutiny by your kind as I was growing up, you now turn an undeservedly judgmental eye upon my sister.

No -- you shall not do this without consequence. You will be publicly castigated.

You serve no other purpose than to continue the cycle of drama in your little fish bowl called Lunenburg. Never have I been so abashed of a community of people. And to think, many of you wonder why I left the area as soon as I possibly could. I despise most of you -- many of whom I attended Lunenburg County Public Schools with. Look at what you have become... pathetic excuses for human beings who couldn't handle the outside world. Many of you returned to Lunenburg after college. Why? What was the point of seeking a higher education, only to return home and not use it? Did you like being a big fish in a small pond? Did you like the comfort of an illusionary life? Or, did you just lie to yourself and say it was for the best? In the end, it doesn't matter. Instead of writing your own story, you've chosen to continue the stage play acted out by your parents, your grand-parents, and so on. You're all calamitous fools who couldn't see past the end of your own dirt roads and driveways. I'd pity you if I didn't think you were such deplorable scum.

I am deeply, deeply ashamed of what you, the Lunenburg County populace, represents.

Lunenburg -- You're a small town atmosphere filled with narcissistic ants, swarming over every little piece of gossip you can. You're the type of folks that hang out at Lunenburg Country Club and think you're powerful titans of industry. You eat at Mildred's Meals and believe your derriere has the scent of roses. You yearn over Timmy Dogs and the K-V Dispatch. You take skiing trips with your hunting club. You watch Charger football and kissed the rump of a certain bloated, clique-friendly coach. You go to your houses of worship on Sunday and stab your friends in the back on Monday. You form self-serving networks within the local fire, rescue and police departments for your own benefit.

You are everything that disgusts me about small town life.

Of note, there are some wonderful, compassionate people in Lunenburg County who have always been kind to me and my family. Just to name two that immediately stand out in my mind -- Jean Kunath (who always encouraged me to be artistic and treated me like an adult) and the departed Roberta Rickers (who inspired me at a very early age to treasure books and writing). I haven't forgotten what they did for me. I am very thankful. Without their influence on my creativity, I probably wouldn't write this blog day in and day out.

I've stated my peace. If the entirety of Lunenburg County was obliterated by a meteorite tomorrow, I'd breathe a sigh of relief. Good riddance.

You're not my home town, nor will you ever be.

Sincerely,
Jared Manning

Islamophobia or Bust.

Skyline of Riyadh, Saudi Arabia

Go ahead... call me Islamophobic.

Coming from the perspective of the modern Western liberal agenda, that may appear to be the case. I don't respect the Islamic way of life. Islam (as a doctrine) promotes the division of economic classes, xenophobia, sexism, female genital mutilation, murder, physical abuse and a host of other terrible things. I digress, though. I am in no way afraid of Islam nor those whom identify as Muslim. In my life, I've met many wonderful Muslims whom were nothing but kind to me. They treated me with respect and politeness. You see, that's the part that perturbed me in the past. How could someone so nice subscribe to a theocracy that has a near infinite number of faults? It makes no sense.

I could show you numerous photos and videos of violent acts committed in the name of Allah. There are more videos of beheadings on the internet than I would ever care to watch -- as if I would want to watch any to begin with. I won't show you such horrors, though. No one should see such a terrible act as a beheading.

You may say...

"But Jared, most Muslims would never commit such heinous acts. Your position is unfair to those people."

And you would be right -- most Muslims would never cut off a person's head or set them on fire. Nor would they use children as martyrs or rape their own daughter.

Here's the issue I have, though.

By being a member of the Islamic faith, you at least partly condone these actions. Through worshiping the Quran as the word of Allah, you agree to the tenets and principles of the religion found within that holy text. Continuing to identify with a group that regularly condones war, rape, murder and martyrdom is highly suspect. All I know is this -- If I were a member of a group that started to rape, pillage and murder, I'd leave that group.

And yes, I realize that many people have no way of leaving their situation, especially in countries that practice Sharia law. To yearn for revolutionary change, but to be stuck in an oppressive society, must be absolute hell.

This routes me back to my question at the beginning of this article. It took me a long time to understand why Muslims, whom are so polite and kind in person, could be members of such a vile ideology. When able to speak independently and without the gaze of other Muslims, the weight of strict adherence to Islam can be lifted. On an individual basis, a Muslim can be free to act like a normal human being. Essentially -- the radical nature of Islam increases in proportion with the size of the population. It's like the old concept of keeping up with the Joneses, but with Islamic undertones. I realize this is only a theory, but it makes sense to me.

Before I go any further, let me clear the air. Judaism, Christianity, Hinduism and even Buddhism are all guilty of atrocious acts in the name of their faith. When it comes to the concept of shared guilt, I feel the same way about Christians; continued adherence to that faith is a consent to child molestation (however painful that truth may be for you to accept, I stand by it). The same goes with the Jews -- being a practicing Jew implies that you're comfortable, at least on some level, with grown men cutting the foreskin off male genitalia (in some cases using their mouth). I'm not just pointing the finger at Islam. I'm merely highlighting how Islam is the chief offender. One theology has to be the worst... and Islam is it.

All theocracies are guilty.

What really pisses me off is the permission given to Islam by the aforementioned Western liberals. A Jew or a Christian can commit a terrible act in the name of their god and a liberal will call them out on their fundamentalism. Yet, Islam somehow catches a free pass. The liberals defend Islam and say that this is "their culture" and we "don't understand". It's as if criticism of Islam is immediately relegated to the realm of racist hate speech. Automatically, I must be a bigot if I call out the nefarious activities of Muslims.

You couldn't be farther from the truth. I'm just calling a spade a spade.

For that matter, why should we celebrate a culture that regularly abuses women? That makes them hide their face? That cuts their clitoris off? That keeps them from holding a job or driving a car? That keeps them from speaking or voting or doing anything to better their condition? Is that a culture we should really be celebrating?

King Abdullah of Saudi Arabia

I want to highlight the story of King Abdullah's jailed princesses.

Details emerged last year about four daughters of the recently deceased King Abdullah of Saudi Arabia. These four princesses (Sahar, Hala, Jawaher and Maha) have been detained under house arrest for over thirteen years. Why? Because they spoke out against the injustices and crimes they saw around them. Their own father decided it best to lock them away. All this because they wanted to reform conditions for women and prisoners held by the state. What kind of father would do that to his own children? A pretty terrible one, if you ask me.

Yet, King Abdullah has been praised by leaders around the globe as a beacon of peace and prosperity in the Middle East. He has been ushered into the afterlife as a proponent of equal rights and social reform. I am completely appalled by these blind statements of support. Abdullah and the kingdom he ruled with an iron fist is yet another example of Islamic barbarianism. No surprise, given you'd be hard pressed to find any member of the United States government willing to even identify the radicals that enacted the Charlie Hebdo attack as Muslims. The terms of dialogue have steadily changed when it comes to international affairs. No longer will you hear government officials say "Islamic terrorists". Nay, now they've become "radicalized terrorists". Even the Islamic State (commonly called ISIS), has been carefully careened into a secular connotation. Our own president has proposed that ISIS does not represent Islam; they're merely fundamentalist radicals claiming to be Muslim.

Members of ISIS poising for a group photo

Hello! Think, McFly! Think! ISIS, if anything, represents one of the purest interpretations of the Islamic faith. Not only do they believe what they worship, but they practice what they preach! What's even more scary is that polling data of Muslims from around the world regularly shows that support for ISIS is broad and substantial.

A page from the Quran

What do I want you to walk away with after reading this article? I want you to understand that you can criticize Islam and not be a bigot. I don't loathe Muslims -- I dislike the Islamic faith. Never be afraid to speak out against vicious savagery.

Except for Raif Badawi, who has been lashed by the Saudi Arabian government for blogging. He has every right to be afraid.

Wounds.

I recently listened to a story by the revered martial artist Enson Inoue. Inoue is a Japanese-American whom has held the Shooto Heavyweight Championship and operates multiple mixed martial arts studios across the globe. Considered one of the progenitors of the MMA sports field, Inoue is highly regarded. Amongst the Japanese people, they call him 'Yamato-Damashii', which in essence means 'Japanese Spirit'. The Japanese consider him to contain and harness all that which makes Japan unique and special. He is a warrior and guide to them, and rightfully so.

In this story, Inoue-san spoke of an altercation he encountered when he was young. To paraphrase, he watched as a young friend was beaten within inches of his life. Already fairly proficient in the martial arts, Inoue locked up from fear. From what, he asked himself? Having a broken rib? Being cut? Perhaps snapping a leg? The anticipation of physical harm scared him from getting involved. Fear conquered him on that day, to which he still regrets as an older man.

At the end of his tale, Inoue-san made a powerful point. Had he of stepped in and helped defend his friend, he most assuredely would have been injured. Yet, physical wounds heal. Bones can become unbroken. The flesh will stop bleeding. Instead... many decades later, he still has an emotional wound by not stepping in to help. Emotionally, he has not healed... and probably never will. Fear damaged him in a way that physical harm can not. Fear cut to his very essence, to forever be left with a scar. The emotional wound proved far more permanent than any physical wound he could have potentially received on that day so long ago.

I can relate to Inoue-san in way that many can not. He understands how emotional trauma can have a lifelong impact.

As a child, I preferred the shoving and beatings over any amount of yelling... any amount of degradation and torture. On multiple occassions, I can directly recall simply asking my dad for a beating, just to get the whole altercation over with. It's disgusting... but it's the truth. At least I can move beyond the pain.

Pain is temporary.

Scars.

On this evening, I find myself mulling over of the imperfections we all share. Each of us is a complex mire of swirling vices and misconceptions. Many of the choices we make in life are shallow or short-sighted. Sometimes we make snap judgments without considering the long-term ramifications. Causation is chief amongst why we make the choices we do. Too many of us bear scars inflicted by those that have hurt us in the past, both physically and emotionally.

The beaten child becomes an abusive parent.

The scorned lover becomes a misogynist.

The overlooked student becomes a self-destructive party animal.

We all bear scars. You. I. Your best friend. The waitress that lives down the block. Your math teacher. The guy at the grocery whom bags your apples. The cop writing you a ticket. The prom queen.

We all bear scars.

Given the freedom to do so, scars can remain as open wounds that fester and spread sickness throughout your entire body. The sickness can infect your mind and spoil your thoughts. It can worm its way into your heart and ruin your ability to love - either yourself or anyone else. You grow older, more depressed, more untethered to the consciousness of mankind. Eventually, your light grows dim. At the end of it all, you find yourself to be a mere hollow shell. No spark. No internal flame. Done.

The causality of pain producing scars, which in turn causes us to make imperfect choices - that is a bond that we all share. Ironically enough, the state of normality is for us to be imperfect. To be "perfect" is not normal, but abnormal! These scars, whether we find a way to make them heal, or let them continue to sour our existence, are what construct the landscape of our lives. In a way, these scars... these past attacks on our potential happiness... they make us who we are. Each thread in the tapestry of our life is a choice. Some threads are given to us from others. Some threads are earned through hard work. Some threads are the scars themselves. Woven together, a complete person is produced.

We must hold dear our scars and attempt to heal as many as possible. Though, I make no implication as to forgiveness for the scars we have. Most actions can be forgiven; there are some that can not. This is purely subjective - only you can decide for yourself what is to be forgiven. At the end of it all, I'm left with one simple, but profound notion.

Scars are memories that refuse to be forgotten.

It ends with me.

I've come to two important conclusions recently.

1. I can't make my father be the man I want him to be.
2. I was powerless to change my deceased mother into the woman I wanted her to be.

For too long, I've carried this expectation that they'd change and become the people I want them to be. Too many years of cutting them slack. Too many years of making excuses. How illogical of me! I can no more expect my parents to change than I can the stars not to shine. People are who they want to be; nothing more, nothing less.

Many years on, even through all of his faults and transgressions, I idolized my father. I thought he was impervious to the darker side of human nature. Even when he was physically and emotionally abusive, I made excuses for his behavior. Oh, his father abused him... and his father before him. He can't help it. Perhaps that was my own fault. How can a man reach such lofty expectations?

At this stage in my life, I can look back and understand the scope of my situation. I'm a little bit wiser and a little more jaded. My father is going to be who he wants to be -- a civil servant trying to be a part of the 'in-crowd'. The problem? The 'in-crowd' despises him and laughs behind his back. He's stuck in a podunk community that neither likes nor appreciates him. He's also a devoted subject to a "god" that bestows no blessings. A man without a family, either by force or by choice - what kind of "god" does that to a man? To explain away the death of your own wife as a possession of evil spirits and the devil? That's absurd and foolish. Yes - you said this father. Dare not you try to say otherwise.

Father, remember that conversation we had many years ago about the Book of Job? The story of Job is a core element of my atheism. That's why I don't believe in your "god", or any other. Any "god" that would destroy a man, all for the sake of winning a bet, is no "god" at all. Children make bets over games at recess. Gamblers make bets on sporting events. Such a being is petty and foolish. Even if your "god" were real, I'd curse his name to the ends of the Earth. I'd rather die faithless as a decent, compassionate man than blindly support a god of pettiness and cruelty. A man that ventures to the grave with honor needs no shepherd to light his path into the darkness. What does that say about you? A man of logic and reason... I think not.

Understand this - Mother didn't die because the devil performed some bit of trickery. Mother died because she smoked cigarettes for more years than I care to count. She valued her smoking habit more than her own health. That was her choice - not the result of some absent "god" or even an attentive "devil".

And here we are... Mother has been gone for almost two years. Her being gone is mostly irrelevant - she took no more of an interest in my life than a rock. I actually feel more guilt for not being upset that she's dead than any real sadness for her truly being gone. I find myself unable to sleep at night; I toss and turn battering my brain. I ask of myself "What kind of monstrosity must I be for not being upset? Am I really this cold and detached?" Father has moved on to someone new, though I suspect my mother wasn't even dead yet before those new "waters" were being tested. Ahem. He has his "god" and his new partner. Good riddance.

But he doesn't have me. He doesn't have two of my siblings. Our family as we once knew it is no more. The unit is dissolved. Mother's passing destroyed the last unexplainable linchpin that held this shambling laughing-stock of a family together. Without her, we are free of any due responsibility to each other. In that, I probably find the most sorrow of all.

I just wanted a normal family. We could have lived on a normal street with normal neighbors. Our friends could have been normal. We could have taken normal vacations without yelling and fighting. The holidays could have been normal and free from guilt. My first date could have been normal. I could have actually hung out with school mates and done normal things - parties, movies, weekend adventures. I could have had a normal self-image with a normal degree of self-esteem. We could have just been normal people in a normal world.

I realize normal is a subjective term. Some would even say there is no such thing as normal. For a child, there is a sense of normalcy, though.

Normal is loving your child and not treating him or her like a possession. Normal is not employing your child like hired help. Normal is not hitting your child. Normal is not making your child feel helpless and pitiful.

All I ever wanted was for us to be normal. I wanted my father to be normal. I wanted my mother to be normal. I see now that I expected too much. Moving on with my life is my only choice.

On one of the last occasions my father, mother and I spoke, they chastised me for not wanting children. "When are you going to make us grandparents?" they would say. For that matter, I can recall many moments in even my early and mid-twenties when they heckled me for not having kids yet. There's no way I'd ever be responsible for bringing a new human life into this horrible world. More importantly, I'd never allow even a glimmer of a possibility that I'd treat a child as poorly as my parents treated me. That beast is in me, no matter how much I diminish it. I couldn't live with myself if I ever yelled at a child... if I ever hit a child. Yet, they could not understand why.

The sins of the father will not be repeated... not on my watch.

It ends with me.