Journal Entry 1, 1/12/2014

(I write this to sort of ground my Character in the world, and to help me form a bases for him)

Was told, I should start writing one of these. Its supposedly supposed to help me cope with my emotional freak outs. I guess I don’t understand how writing a few paragraphs every few days is supposed to help me with shit, but doctor says Quincy does I guess.

I have been keeping up on my meds mostly. Its like I’m floating in the middle of the ocean, the shore always seems so far away compared to where I’m standing, I see the gulls but I just can’t reach it. If I had to compare it to anything, it would more than likely be like getting choked out. Then that immediate euphoria when it stops and that light headiness hits, but its constant. I feel like this shit is dumbing me down, making me slow and that’s not me. If I don’t take these pills, its worse or is it really? Black outs, blind rage, little things set me off, I guess it’s better to take it back to where it started 16, 10th or 11th grade, hey if I’m going to write in this thing, I’m going to go all out.

I guess I’ll star this story off with my mother is a whore, literally a whore, had the pimp and everything. As you guessed, I’m a product of that, never knew my dad, but that isn’t a bad thing, not even sure my mother knows who it is. All I ever was, was the period of her life she couldn’t make her money, there is a good chance I was her pimps kid, looked kinda like him I suppose in the eyes, who knows. I was raised in an environment where her regulars became my fathers for the short period they were there, usually end up being locked in a bed room while business was conducted, or they could pay extra to take their frustration out on the poor kid raised by a whore, beaten senseless and apparently that was ok with her. Hey it was a few extra dollars in her pocket, that was like six or seven more pills for her to enjoy. You’re probably asking why the school didn’t say anything, it wasn’t exactly the best school, middle of the Ghetto, a kid with bruises wasn’t exactly a huge deal. That school is where things took a turn.
I started hanging around with a group of older kids, seniors, they could see I was struggling see I was angry. They could harness that anger I would assume they thought, teach me to stand on my own, help enforce their control. K was leader, big kid, dark eyes, dark hair, and an even darker sense of humor, got his kicks torturing animals, don’t know what he is doing now. Can’t be good, still I’ll never forget what he did to that puppy and the smell. Then there was Vince, you didn’t really talk with him, though when he did you listened, he was sort of an enforcer, scrawny guy glasses thick curly hair, all American boy scout look. Could fool you, maybe once, until I watched him put a red hot fire stoker through some dudes knee cap, the screams are most memorable. Then there was Abbet, good guy decent guy, he hooked up the dealers in the crew, talked with a lisp, shaved head, semi balding at the age of eighteen, full on crusted beard, and his eyes where always red. Abbet I stuck with, as for me I just did what I was told. Quincy Beat up that dude, Quincy break his kneecap, it was easy, letting all that anger just boil over, and taking it out on one sod after the other. That’s when I really learned violence solved a lot of issues, that’s when my anger started to become an issue, and that’s was the last 2 years I took shit from anyone who stepped foot in my mother’s house.

I won’t go into too much detail about the night that I was hauled off to jail for crazy people for five years. Just know that I don’t even remember much of it myself. Same type of thing, same guys, beating the fuck out of me. I blacked out, when I woke up my mother was crying, there was so much blood, I had lashed out apparently, burred the guy’s head into the fireplace brick nearly unrecognizable. Then the cops came and did what cops do, I was taken in and put before a judge. The trial didn’t last long, my lawyer was able to convince a jury and a judge that I was not in control when it happened. I was sentenced to Mornings Burg psychological institute, where I was diagnosed with IED (Intermediate Explosive Disorder). I can black out, or just freak out without my medication. Five years I bided my time there, and was reviewed and passed my release. That’s when I came to Hathian. That’s why I need to continue to take my medication.

This isn’t some sob story, I’m just doing what the doctor told me to, though I do have a few rules I try to abide by.
1. Keep yourself in check, breath
2. Don’t feed into the bullshit
3. Don’t involve women and children in your payback (unless you have no choice, or they are the problem)
4. Don’t take bullshit nor give bullshit
5. Hold your homies closely, fuck everyone else
6. And last, don’t get played.

Signed
Quincy “Q” Constantine