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Thread: 9Lives - My Life Story

  1. #1

    Default 9Lives - My Life Story

    The start of a story always seems to be the hardest part. I don't know why it is but I think it has something to do with your brain chemistry, like you trick yourself into thinking the first paragraph has to be interesting or else no one is gonna want to continue to keep reading. Is this true? I think it is. I been guilty of this plenty of times. That being said this story is very adult in nature. If you can't handle it, don't read it. I don't share this in hopes of sympathy or any kind of personal gain from you. I'm doing this because I was asked and I'm doing it because I'm kinda curios to see how well I can pull this off after so much time has passed. I did attempt this once a long time ago, it was a very angry story with the tone it set and I don't think that reflects me at all to this day. So it's time for a revision, a new outlook on life. This is who I was and what I have become because of it all. Enjoy.

    I think I've erased the start of this paragraph at least ten times by now.

    Analyze and interpret. Analyze and interpret. Analyze and interpret.
    Analyze and interpret. Analyze and interpret. Analyze and interpret.
    Analyze and interpret. Analyze and interpret. Analyze and interpret.
    Analyze and interpret. Analyze and interpret. Analyze and interpret.
    Analyze and interpret. Analyze and interpret. Analyze and interpret.
    Analyze and interpret. Analyze and interpret. Analyze and interpret.
    Analyze and interpret. Analyze and interpret. Analyze and interpret.
    Analyze and interpret. Analyze and interpret. Analyze and interpret.
    Analyze and interpret. Analyze and interpret. Anal sex and interpret.
    Analyze and interpret. Analyze and interpret. Analyze and interpret.
    Analyze and interpret. Analyze and interpret. Analyze and interpret.

    Okay out of system now. So let's do this shall we? My name is Dan and this is my story.

    If I had to pick a age of when I remember everything in a vivid sense, it would be seven. The echoing memories of "We never meant to have you" or my favorite "You're a mistake". Try telling that to a little kid and see how they react. I shut myself out from their life as they never meant to have me apart of theirs. If it wasn't for my older brother I would of been alone entirely. We both supported each other through the hell that was our lives. The only time we were separated was to go to school or receive a drunken beating. Till this very day I don't know why my father did it. The only thing that makes sense is he is a paranoid schizophrenic, he works for a very high profile company where they expect too much out of him. His frustration needed a outlet, we served that purpose. Though the beatings never stopped, tolerance started to work in my favor. I remember laughing back at him, mocking him, further egging him on. This is when blood shed entered the picture and I found it strangely amusing. My mind went into a downwards spiral further proving to me that I was nothing. I began to experiment with blood, a slit there, a slit here felt right. This was my life as I held the knife.

    Where was my mom during all of this? She was quite the coward. I know she didn't approve of my fathers beatings but she certainly never did anything to stop it. I think more than anything she was afraid of him when he had that look in his eyes. Anytime I was punished and being told verbally what to expect she would hide behind him and peek around. The mental image will never go away of what a spineless cunt she truly was. The only thing that was ever important to her was God. He took center stage, the rest of us? Ha! You're a ghost. Nothing. The only time she ever noticed me is when I messed up, be it in school, getting in fights with the neighborhood kids because I was so damn socially awkward. The times I did good though? Does it matter? Exactly my point.

    My older brother didn't suffer the beatings as much as I did, I don't know why that is. I been told the middle child is always the one with the hardest life and I guess it's true after all. Wait, what? You didn't mention anything about a little brother? All in good time my friend. My little brother was born about three years apart from me. He was given the life, the love, the treatment that I so badly craved but never received. Why? I don't know and I don't think I ever will. The pain was too much handle though, I went back to seeking comfort in cutting myself to see how far I could push the limit. Every time I saw him, how happy he was, how easy that little shit had it ...I hated him. I wished him dead. On the topic of my older brother, btw his name was Jon because I don't want to keep typing the same title. My little brother is Stephen and together we are WILD STALLIONS! *laughs* Okay okay I needed some humor in there to offset this mood I'm creating here.

    Jon. I feel bad for him till this day. He was a living brain. That kid impressed me every day but it didn't mean anything to our parents of course. I remember how proud he was when he would come home with a straight a report card but nothing was ever said of it. It didn't stop me from looking up to him though, he was my hero in the sheltered life I led. Jon was far from perfect though, a kid can only take so much until they stop caring entirely. This was around the time he turned to drugs, petty ones at first but that didn't last for long. Once the drugs came into the picture, the music came next. Drug of choice? Death metal. Satanic shit. Whatever it would take to make it a point he was a teenager acting out. And you can't be cool when you have your brother hanging by your side now can you? Kicked to the curb I was, next stop ...figure it out. I'll give you a hint, life's a bitch.

    It was around this time that the beatings stopped. They had a new focus now, Jon. It wasn't my problem anymore and I kinda didn't care since he no longer did for me. I tried to make amends with my little brother but I think secretly I wanted him to look up to me. I just wanted some fucking attention! Just watching my mom swoon all over him, love him, feed him, change him, talk about him, and even smile at him drove me crazy. I wanted that. I wanted to know what that felt like. Something just clicked inside my head and before I knew it I was stealing diapers from him. I was a crafty little sneak too. I came up with some of the most insane hiding spots. I prided myself in my new secret life. I was happy. There was no more need or even urge to cut. I don't know what it was but anytime the opportunity came up I would take it and next thing I know I be in diapers, content, and snug. I did this for six years without being caught. If you're following the time line, I was thirteen at this point. When my little brother was no longer in diapers. I just stole em from grocery stores or our churches nursery. I didn't care what it took, I just wanted my damn fix.

    All good things must come to a end though. I was finally caught. They said they would be out all night and Jon would look after us. They came home early to find me asleep in diapers, the covers tossed off me at one point during my slumber. I only meant to nap but I became aware the gig was up. My dad threw me out of bed, started yelling at me, cussing, ridiculing me ...FREAK, ASHAMED OF YOU, SICK! My mom wouldn't even look at me, just said if they ever caught me again that I was gonna be sent to the looney bin. It didn't take long for my brothers to hear word and soon I was the laughing stock of my family. No one respected me, they downright hated me. I remember when they found my stash and took black sharpie markers to all my diapers writing some of the most hateful things. It didn't end there though, my brothers told all the kids in the neighborhood. Dan dan the diaper man became the famous saying, it haunts me till this day. The taunting, the teasing ...dear God please just take me away.

    I was never much of a believer but this didn't matter because as long as you were under their roof you would go to church like it or not. I didn't believe though, he never did a single thing for me and the people that worshiped him disgusted me.This is not my view today though for the record. It didn't stop me from praying though because I didn't know what else to do. I kept praying for a escape. A angel to come and fly me away from this horrible place. It never happened. I remember when it all got to be too much and I grabbed a knife from the kitchen and locked myself in my room. I prayed one final prayer and held the blade to my heart. I couldn't fucking do it though! I laid there fetal on the ground, crying, knife still in hand, cussing at God ...damning him to hell.

    I went back to diapers. I just didn't care anymore. This was my comfort zone and I wasn't gonna let anyone take that from me. I had diapers. Jon had drugs. And Stephen? He had love. I kinda tricked everyone into thinking my sick desires had passed on and soon Jon let me back into his life. I think more than anything he just wanted company when he was drugged. If I had known where this was leading I would of got the fuck out but a kid of thirteen only knows so much. I was just happy to him back in my life. It didn't matter that he was teaching me things like how to shoplift, how to pack a bong, etc. Everything was going good but it soon took a turn for the worse. Jon wanted more. He wasn't happy anymore unless he was fucked up on something. He started getting involved in things like Oxycotton, Robotrippin', speed, crack ...the list goes on. It changed him as a person though. There were many times he would dose himself up and rage out in violence from the God like feeling he got from it all. Cough syrup was his drug of choice though. What it do? He felt invincible he said. What did this mean? Violence. Now can you guess who got to be the lucky target?

    *hears a bunch of frantic spastic waving hands in the air*
    "Okay, Billy, what's the answer?"
    "Um can I go to the bathroom"
    "Dammit Billy! I'm trying to tell a story here."

    Kids, oy! Anyway I was of course that target. Jon wasn't Jon though, not anymore anyway. Drugs just became so heavily involved that he created this chemical dependency for them. A one track mind if you will. When he couldn't get the money for his fix, he either stole, or beat the shit out of me for any kind of money I had or anything worthy of pawning. He kicked my ribs in often. Our father started getting more involved at this point and very in your face with Jon. Of course Jon would have none of that and started looking for a fight. Those two got into it constantly.

    I figured this was now my chance to go back into hiding since I was no longer in the spotlight. Ahhh diapers, how I missed ye! Fast forward to about the age of sixteen now. Jon was still living with us, drugged was his state of being still. Father didn't have a clue how to handle him. He had lost the fight and he knew it. Our mom was still playing the game of everything is perfect, Jesus will fix everything in her own little world. Around this time we got our first computer. I begged for them to sign us on the internet, saying how it would benefit us all. AOL was in its prime at this point as hard as that is to believe. I'll never forget the day I was messing with keywords for private chat rooms. I typed diapers as a joke and next thing I know I'm looking at a room full of twenty three people. (the max i believe back then) I was speechless. I didn't even know where to begin. What did I do? I lurked. I learned a lot just from simple observation and that was good enough for me at the time. It just felt amazing to know I wasn't alone. This only drove my fixation with diapers further of course and I became quite the little computer geek. One could say I lived on the computer, it felt like it was my only friend that wouldn't do me any harm. Sad but true back then.

    Now fast forwarding to Christmas Eve of this year. Our father was done with Jon and looking to hit him where it hurt. He broke down his door while he was away and tore apart his room trying to find his drugs. He found em alright and soon they were flushed down the toilet. How much? Try three hundred dollars worth of cocaine, gone just like that. When Jon came home it didn't take him long to figure out someone had been busy, he chased our father with a golf club and eventually cornered him in the bathroom . He started beating him repeatedly with the club as I was frozen in shock taking it all in. The club snapped in two which made two spikes, so he started stabbing him blow after blow after blow. He sliced his ear off which fell to the tile floor where a pool of blood was waiting. The bathroom itself was covered in blood of course. Our mom was not home during this, actually they were in a middle of a fight so she was staying at a friends. I called the cops out when I regained myself and Jon took off to grab anything of value. Christmas presents? Gone. Fathers wallet? Gone. Car keys? Gone. By the time the cops came Jon was long gone. (see what I did there?) They took one ear man to the hospital and I stayed at home cleaning up blood. I was suppose to go snowboarding over Christmas break with some extended family but due to what had happened it was canceled. They caught Jon about a few days later high as a kite trying to cross the border where he was later put in jail for attempted murder.

    It was just me and my father living together at this point. Mom still wanted nothing to do with her husband and had taken Stephen with her. This was the only time I remember seeing actual remorse in him. I should of cared more but I didn't. I just wanted him to feel pain for the first time in his life.

    He start coming home less and less. I figured he was at the bar. I used this time to my advantage to get more involved in the chat room I had found. I started making connections with others like myself, tbs, abs, daddies, mommies ...fuck I wanted it all! When they were made aware of my living situation all I heard was you need to get out of there. I was about seventeen at this time. I kept hearing promises of love and attention that were waiting for me as soon as I was ready to make that choice. What did I have to lose I thought. So I dove head first into making a "fallback" plan for when things were at their absolute worse. That didn't take long, especially with you know who's drinking habits.

    I was talking to a certain ab though who has living with a daddy in Long Beach California. He wanted a little brother, I was to be the one. Dare I say it too but I was starting to fall for him which makes me incredibly ashamed to admit knowing what I was getting myself into. I didn't care though, I was young and stupid. I only wanted to leave home and never turn back. I made the mistake of asking my parents what they thought of gay people. Boy did I pick a wrong topic. Then again when you grow up in the redneck sticks area in Florida this shit is to be expected. Their answer though? Gay people don't belong to this world. I didn't know what to say, I just felt my heart crack into a million pieces. This was not my family. This is not my home. You don't belong. You will always be a faggot diaper freak to them. Get out Statik. I did just that.

    I skipped school that day to go to the Greyhound bus station to buy a ticket to California. All I left behind in my room was a goodbye. The trip took two and half loooong days. You can only imagine the shit on my mind. When I finally arrived I didn't see my new big bro anywhere. I called him up on a payphone to tell him I arrived. I didn't know it but when he was speaking to me he had the FBI right next to him setting me up to be captured. They soon came, cuffed me on the spot and next thing I know I'm in juvee hall. I spent a few months there living in hell. The pain, anger, outright hatred continued to build up every fucking day. I wanted someone to suffer. I wanted to kill my father most of all. More importantly, I wanted to watch him bleed to death as I stood over him looking down at what a fucking disgrace of a dad he was and ask him who's the faggot now. I was flown back home eventually where I wasted no time in approaching my father off guard to slam him into the wall of the hall. I went off. I punched. I kicked the living shit out of him. He was bigger than me though and soon returned the favor. I called the cops out and soon they came knocking. They saw blood all over us and the questions started. I told them how he doesn't love me, booze is his idol, and all I want to do is leave. I told them about the trip I took and how he called the FBI on me to report me a runaway. His response? He wants to live with two gay people. The cops just looked at him and go, So? Look Sir if you can't love your own kid then why make him suffer for it? Let him go, you're obliviously not capable of compassion for him and if you raise a hand against him I will be back to put you in jail. FUCK! YES!

    I was back on my way to California before I knew it, this time I flew though. I finally met the couple I had been speaking to. I was happy but it wasn't about to last. We did have some good times though at first. I didn't know he was falling in love with me though and I told him I wasn't ready for that yet. I had been through a lot and I just wanted to sort my current head out first. This answer wasn't good enough for him and he insisted that I hated him, that I used him. None of this was true but that wasn't good enough. This is when I was given the heads up of "oh yeah by the way, I'm prescribed on prozac" Fuck me. He turned against me ever since I said I didn't want a boyfriend just yet. Until one night he came home, drunk as a skunk, high on something, and grabbed me in bed. (Fuck this is hard. .....breathe slow, get it out.) He had a vial of some shit that he shoved up my nose and next thing I know I'm waking up in the flesh, sore, confused, completely alone. What the hell happened? I don't need to type it so I'm moving on. I ran down the street to their best friends house who was also a daddy hoping he was home. He wasn't. I ran to the next spot I could think of, the beach. I was so fucking scared. I felt betrayed, sick, and used. I guess that was his revenge for not getting what we wants. I spent all night there at the beach, me alone in my head. When the sun started to come up I headed back to their friends house in hopes he be home. He was. I told him everything while bawling my head off. He told me that they are never allowed around us, he's changing all his locks, and if they don't stay the fuck away the police will get involved. We were both scared to get the police involved because they would probably try to send me back home. He said I could stay with him and he would make sure I was never hurt again. He kept his promise, hell he even raised me. I learned more living with him then I did my entire life. My God I was actually happy.

    He started to introduce me to other friends of his. One in particular was another ab who was a flight attendant for a living. He worked for Qantas and lived in Australia. We hit it off too. I enjoyed his company anytime he was in town, as he did mine. In fact he even invited me to come back to Australia with him. The dad I was living with thought it be a great idea, experience it while you can kinda deal. Off I went to Australia and my new friend eventually became my daddy. I lived with him a little over a year there, we designed a lion king themed nursery, traveled the world, and just lived it up. You know that saying if it's too good to be true it probably is? Right on the money. There's nothing that could of prepared me for what I was gonna find. They were at work for the week though. I was at home, bored. I started to explore the house and came upon some photo albums. FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! NO! THIS ISN'T FUCKING HAPPENING! NO! The album was full of child porn. No it wasn't just baby pictures of himself, it was multiple pics of all kinds of children. My heart sank into the pit of my stomach. What the hell was I gonna do? When he came home from work I confronted him, told him don't even talk to me just get me on a plane home. He didn't fuck with my request. I told the previous Dad what had happened and he wouldn't stop apologizing saying he never knew. That was the only time I spoke after my return, then I stopped. For months I didn't dare say a word. There was nothing I could say.

    It took some time to finally open again and my dad was right there waiting for me with open arms. We have that special bond till this very day. He's the father that should of been and I'm his son. I continue to seek his advice and now offer some of mine. When I came out, he was there to answer questions and I can't thank him enough for that. Boy did I put him through some shitty ex's of mine though! The story doesn't end here though, sorry.

    I got a call from my mom when I was still living with my daddy friend. She was heart broken. No one told me till later but my older had pleaded insanity after being in prison for three years, he won. When he was released they put him on job probation program. He was found months later face down in his apartment by his landlord, dead. He had overdosed on crack. At the age of twenty four my brother was no more. (oh fuck, here come the swollen eyes ...never fails). I was flown out to his funeral, one of the hardest things I've ever faced in my life which says a lot coming from this story. No one warned me that the funeral was open casket either. I remember my little brother looking at me, asking me why I wasn't crying. I told him it was too much to take in right now. I'm still in shock ..not ready to grieve. I had written a note to Jon that I put in his chest pocket, I felt cold just touching his clothing. I had to get out. I did just that. It wasn't until Jon's death that I connected with my little brother. He said he was sorry for all the ridicule he put me through and wanted to start over. We did but not the way he would of liked to, I had no intention of staying in Florida. My home was in California and soon I was back.

    I started to actively date, just trying to get my mind off all the shit. I too turned to drugs to try to mask the pain. Further down the spiral I was heading. My daddy was not proud but I didn't care I was too far gone at that point. I hung out with some shady crowds, dealers, users, abusers, fronters, slingers, it didn't fucking matter we were all connected in some form or another. Being in this kinda crowd just makes you a magnet for scum. I saw it all. That I'm not that sharing here and believe me if I could I would erase it from my head forever. Needless to say I had hit rock bottom and the only one I had to blame was myself. I could only hope that my daddy would understand and thankfully he did. We got my head sorted out, put me on a productive routine to keep myself active by working, and eventually I met my better half (on dpf chat of all places!) who goes by Noname.

    It's now eight years later, still together, and the life I once led is no more. I have such a positive outlook on everything that I can't even believe it's me half the time when I hear myself speak, think, or even see my reflection in the mirror. I should be dead to put it blunt. I had more than enough chances to be. Be it self harm, looking down the barrel of a gun, or just outright shitty luck. I guess that's why I'm a feline huh? Nine lives baby!

    So in closing, yes one more paragraph to go made it this far, quit your bitching I just want to mentally and spiritually thank those who helped me get to where I am today. You gave me a second chance. You didn't give up on me when I already had given up on myself. By no means am I saying my story is one to follow if you might be in a similar situation. Please just go to the proper authorities. Thank you for reading.

  2. #2


    I don't think I can find the words to convey what I'm feeling right now... no one should ever have to go through what you've been through. =/

  3. #3


    That's quite a story! Thank you for taking the time to put it all together to share with us. I'm thankful that you eventually managed to find some decent people in life and I hope things will continue to be better for you. Sorry I don't have much more to say after all that. I did read it all, but you're not looking for sympathy, so all I can say is thanks.

  4. #4


    that was quite a lot to read about...
    what a life you've had and what shitty people you've met... it's allmost unbelievable! O.o
    Good to hear that your life is back on track now (finally!) and that you found someone that DID care and DID help you...

    nice of you to take your time to write it all down for us

  5. #5


    Static, I just don't know what to say. I know I lived some pretty fucked up parts in my young life, but nothing like yours. Unlike you, I had loving parents. I was adopted because my birth parents were idiots, but after that, I was in a good home. Not so for you my friend. I think it's amazing you have survived and are here to tell your tale. I wish you all that is good in life. When times get rough, analyze and interpret. It seems to have worked.

  6. #6


    I thought my brother had it rough...
    Thank you so much for sharing your story. I know it was hard for you to write all of that down. It would be amazing if you were to go into more detail and turn that into the next "A child called "It".

  7. #7


    I usually write the first paragraph of any paper I write at the very end - mostly because I have no clue where I'm going at the beginning, so I feel for you. And since this isn't a scientific paper, I can start out by brightening the mood with a little amusing comment. Oh, wait, this already is the first paragraph, so I'm done should print out the story and hop on a train/subway/bus/WhatHaveYou and take a trip to Hollywood. Maybe they'll consider your story a good storyline for a movie. It would certainly be an eye-opener to the audience, but I think Hollywood prefers the lovey dovey family stories with happy endings (and I think you'd have to remove the anal sex part too )

    Your story makes me wonder if the world would be a better place if someone set up a special adoption agency - not one where cute lil toddlers who can still be molded into whatever their new parents want them to be are handed out to couples who can't have kids. No, one that hands out parents "that should have been" to kids in trouble whose relationship to their real parents is beyond repair. Sure, there's counseling or psychologists, but the medical profession can't and won't get emotionally involved with their patients, so it's not the same. I'm sure there's plenty of people who would be willing to lend a helping hand, a shoulder to cry on or a kick in the butt as needed, and sometimes all it takes is for the child to get the hell away from their previous life. I mean you said that your older brother would bring (unappreciated) straight As home. What if he had gotten away from it all, not to a state of drug-induced emptiness but to someone who actually cared about him? Getting those helpful people set up with children in need would certainly save many a life, and many a person's destiny.
    It eventually worked in your case, but it sounded like it was a bumpier road then it should have been - first getting into the arms of someone who cared more about your butt than your head (sexual abuse - did I read correctly between those lines?), then someone who cared about the younger you (pedo), and finally heading down the same drug road as your brother (more about that later).

    I know way too many people with similar stories like yours, and it makes me sad and furious that society hasn't come up with better ways to make a difference in those children's lives. Yeah, parenting is awfully hard and no one has any previous experience or a manual for 'operating kids', but some people seriously need to have their private parts removed if they put kids into the world and then treat them like a speeding ticket (which usually provokes feelings along the lines of "I hate you" or "How could I do this?").

    Your story is a showcase for why people get themselves involved with self-mutiliation, drugs, alcohol (gonna put that separately because it can be legally obtained), violence, or any other stuff that can't possibly have a positive influence on life. They need relief from their situation, but eventually ot just make things worse, as any rational outsider will confirm. I have two similar cases in my own extended family - one person died from an overdose of hard drugs after doing the stereotypical druggie career of crimes to get money, jail time and court-ordered hospitalization to get clean. The other person literally drank (booze) their brains out until they couldn't live on their own any more.
    Can't blame the people for getting involved with the drugs, but one way or the other, they just make things worse. That's why my experience tells me to keep people away from those things - no good has ever come out of it!
    Just makes me wonder if diapers/ABism would be a better "drug" for some relief, despite the fact that it can and will be abused by people with questionable motives to get in touch with the younger crowd (as your story shows).

    Finally, as an outside observer, there's a few things I'm wondering about your parents now. Are they happy now that the two kids they apparently didn't want are basically gone - one dead, one living 3,000 miles across the country? Do they sit down in their living room contempt, sipping on some coffee and maybe waiting for Sunday so they can see your youngest brother in church? What if other people ask them about their other sons? What do they reply - "1 out of 3 - not a bad quota"? It's probably questions we won't get an answer to - not here, and not in a Hollywood movie either.

    Anyway, enough analysis. I remember bits and pieces of the story from old times (I, too, blame DPF for that ), I'm glad you've gotten out of it alive and can look forward to a better life with your (name-deprived ) boyfriend and the 'new' people you hold dear.


    By the way: Congrats on being the first person to rake in 9 positive rep points before even making Regular status!

  8. #8


    Quote Originally Posted by Peachy View Post should print out the story and hop on a train/subway/bus/WhatHaveYou and take a trip to Hollywood. Maybe they'll consider your story a good storyline for a movie. It would certainly be an eye-opener to the audience, but I think Hollywood prefers the lovey dovey family stories with happy endings (and I think you'd have to remove the anal sex part too )
    Yeah Peachy I'd love to see this be a book or movie because it's such an amazing story and it really happend. Problem is that due to the pusifcation of America Hollywood wouldn't do it justice. Show me a time that the AB/DL/BF community has ever been put in a postive light in the media, only one I can think of is the Baby Fur thing on Attack of the Show. Only way this would work is if he wrote and directed it himself and when does a newcomer ever do that? Sorry if i'm unclear but the point i'm trying to make is that we are a nation of child worshipers, faith finatics and homophobs who declare war on anything that we don't understand or scares us.

  9. #9


    Wow, I honestly don't know what to say right now. That's quite the story and a depressing one at that; it's inspiring seeing what you went through and how you came back from it all to get the life you want. Thanks for sharing with us.

  10. #10


    I'm like you, I can't stand sympathy.

    We've all been through a lot of tough times. Human life guarantees that. As Ken Kesey said, "Man is certain of nothing but his ability to fail." It is our lot. However, your story proves that there is hope. Most definitely, there is hope. And one can't help but wish that others could find the same solace you, through preserverance and tenacity, have managed to find (Jon, for example). But, if it was so easy to find, would it be of any value? And, certainly, solace is valuable.

    Thank you for taking the time to write your story. I can only imagine how hard it was. And, as usual, talking about it probably didn't help much. But if nothing else, you have more of my respect and the respect of the board. Clearly your insight and maturity can be of a great use and assistance to others who are struggling.

    Keep yo head up!

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