Being Normal In An Abnormal World: Part 1

The No Talk Policy

You must be wondering what it was like for me to live amongst highly abnormal and mentally deranged, paranoid, money-craved psychopaths and chauvinists for seventeen (17) years. Actually, rumor has it that this has gone longer than that, to the extent that even my whole family was influenced and manipulated without their knowledge.

The marriage of my first and third eldest sisters for instance, was according to a robin who loves to perch on my shoulder and just tweet about almost anything related to these scheming niggers, were secretly pre-arranged. Although it looked like a normal courtship that ensued after the eldest was introduced to my brother-in-law, and the third eldest met her husband in the company where she worked, both had already been planned and contrived prior to my father’s ailing condition.

In fact both marriages were all too sudden, almost immediately right after my father’s death, that many an eyebrow was raised and rumors spread around secretly as to the real motive behind and who the masterminds were. There were even speculations, again done in the highly secretive grapevine, that my father’s untimely death could have been due to a misdiagnosis done intentionally to deprive my sisters and I of the only male protection we had.

It actually makes a lot of sense now as I think about it. My father’s health was actually improving during that time and I even remember seeing his demeanour change for the better as his creatinin level dropped. Then for some reason just a few days after, coming back from his usual trips outside to relive himself of the boredom of being unemployed and the stigma of a failed business, he suddenly fell ill again.

The doctors as usual, who could have been paid that time to keep their mouths shut, told us that his condition was very erratic, as all diabetic conditions were without strict supervision. It was all downhill from there. Everybody just seemed to stop caring, and was preparing for the inevitable. He died a few days after from kidney failure due to an infection that had spread from the dialysis tube that was attached to his abdomen. His manner of death was like that of someone drowning as fluid slowly filled his lungs.

I can’t help but cry as I start to remember and realize how gruesome his death really was. It never dawned on me how much he had really suffered until I started writing about it.

My father’s condition actually took a great toll on our finances. So you might probably think that his sudden demise saved us a lot of trouble, and may be considered a miracle in disguise, if you failed to consider the factors that aggravated my father’s condition and what actually led to my family’s financial ruin.

But that is for another story. For now, let’s just focus on the mafia and their “lackeys” and how they perceive my life and situation ought to be. I will refer to them as “niggers” all throughout this article for purposes of shortening the terminology and generalizing the insignificant.

First and foremost, the niggers think that I should learn to live with the fact that I live a double life. Kind of like a spy, except that I NEVER GET PAID to keep my so-called “double identity” a secret, nor the existence of the niggers around me. My only consolation, according to the niggers who indirectly, throw around their unsolicited advice at me in public, is that I don’t get killed because I am under the protection of some “padrino” or godfather.

To someone who was raised up in a sheltered but nevertheless dsyfunctional environment, and taught in a religious school to rely solely and even blindly to a higher power, this would sound like a second lease at life. After my first attempts at adventure and stepping out of my comfort zone resulted in utter failure, that is, getting shamefully fired for the first time due to backstabbing and conniving greedy local sales agents; while the other left me a legacy of failing health which will hound me for the rest of my life, you would probably understand why being under some kind of protection, even from total strangers who refused to disclose who they really are, made some sense to me and even seemed acceptable during the time.

But of course, if they ever mentioned that they had been playing me and my family all along, and all the while planning the untimely death of my father, paying off and influencing niggers to spread rumors and discredit me at my first job with a multinational, and conniving with a group of missionaries to push me to the brink of physical exhaustion and health breakdown, then I would have most probably took up arms and started shouting “down with oppression”, or had done something similar to what I am doing now.

Truth is, I feel that if I would be given access to weapons right now, I would not hesitate to blow them all into bits.  I am now beginning to understand why people resort to terrorism. 

So much for well-meaninged, well-intentioned, self-serving lies and alibis.

(to be continued)