It's My Story
an excerpt

I’ve been told to write my story. To tell what has happened to me, how I survived and sometimes excelled. I’m not sure it’s a good story or as inspirational as others who have done the same. I’m not even sure it is worth telling, but here goes anyway.
I’ve always been sad. I don’t remember being any other way. I still feel sad. If you looked at my life now, you’d think I have everything. I have an adorable son who tries very hard to be a good boy. A partner who would do anything for me. We have a nice house, a newish car, decent jobs and friends and family that love us. But I’m still sad.
I suppose when I was younger I had moments of happiness but they were short lived. I remember sliding down the hill at Patterson park on a cardboard box in the snow. Spending time at my Grandmother’s house was always very special. Playing with my cousin Monica was fun. Watching tv was always my escape and sometimes that was fun. When I got older drinking, drugging and clubbing was happy. At least for a while.
But even during the happy moments, there was always the knowledge that it was short lived and the sadness would be back with it’s crushing strength. At times it was suffocating but other times it was a dull ache.