40 to 41 years of my life I’ve lived here in Boca del Locura and though I’ve had the intrusive thoughts, I’ve never acted on them. I never thought that I would one day kill someone. Say what you want, I know I was responsible for what happened. No other way around it.

I never did fit in. I mean, I wasn’t born here, but I consider this place my home and I can’t imagine myself living anywhere else. You would think that after so long someone would have less of a problem improving on their social life despite that.

Throughout much of my earlier life, I was often kept indoors and was only allowed outside under my parents’ strict supervision. For my education, I was homeschooled because according to my parents, the education system wasn’t the best and it was a way to keep me safe. I didn’t like it, but what kid would like school? Not many I’d think.

I got the education, but safety on the other hand, strangers weren’t the ones I largely feared. My parents would use belts, wooden spoons, and their own bare hands on me for a range of reasons like lying, crying, or not being able to tell time by looking at the hands of a clock. They especially loathed and highly discouraged any of my screaming or yelling in the house. I wouldn’t dare try to avoid corporal punishment, otherwise it’d be worse by the time they’d inevitably get me. Seriously, I lived there, so where do I run too?

I remember one time when one of them slapped the back of my head so hard for talking back, my face and teeth slammed into my dinner plate, nearly chipping my front tooth. After being sent to my room, the other came in and reminded me how much the both of them loved me. They stopped hitting me as I got older, but they still found ways to place me under their thumbs, often through threats and mind games.

It sickens me how I now hear them judge other parents who would do the same exact things they used to do to me. I remember so many of the bad things I’ve admitted to doing throughout my life and I learned from my actions. Meanwhile, all the things that my own parents did to me gradually changed from their personal badge of honor because “I deserved it,” to something that they “couldn’t possibly do to their own child.” Odd thing is I still love them, yet I despise them for their cowardice and hypocrisy even today.

Don’t know if it was from all the years of horror stories my parents told me about what could happen to me if I ventured outside of the home and family, or if I was just doomed from the start, but I’m very socially awkward. I’ve been raised to be nice and accommodating to anyone I meet, but there are certain mannerisms that make my attempts very difficult or off-putting. I feel a deep discomfort looking directly into the eyes of another. I’ve learned to overcome that these days, mostly by looking at the nose of the person I’m speaking to them, since it makes it seem like I’m making eye contact. No such work around for my other foibles unfortunately. I tend to mumble, it’s not uncommon for me to saying something wrong without even noticing for hours, and I stutter and stammer when I get stressed.

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Then there’s my physical appearance, which I’m not all too happy about. Parts of me have either patches of shiny skin, or dried cracked and bleeding skin, occasionally leading to infections. One leg is a little shorter than the other. My spine slightly curves out of proper posture. I’m a bit hairy, which has proven to be a problem at times with ingrown hairs. People have a hard time understanding what I’m saying, not just from my mumbling, but because my tongue is larger than my mouth. Speaking of which, I have slightly yellowish teeth no matter how well I clean them. I’m mostly boney except for my gut, which always made me feel fat even when I was at my skinniest.

I’m not much of a catch mentally either. Usually when people chew – always whenever they make loud noises while doing it – I’m repulsed looking at them doing it, and I feel a dull, gnawing pain deep inside my brain and ears, which overwhelms me with extremely violent and intrusive thoughts. Then there’s my compulsive need to do certain things, otherwise I’d get overcome by anxiety about something bad possibly happening. I also would have this fear that sometimes, in where people can tell what I’m thinking, which certainly doesn’t help the social awkwardness. Always got the feeling that people secretly never really liked me. I think about it more now, and it may have never been unfounded after all, along with my other feelings of paranoia.

I could feel all this paranoia, anxiety, and stress bubbling up and buzzing around in my head whenever I’m at work. What would bring it out the most wasn’t necessarily the work itself, but those on the managerial team. They’re just like nearly all the others I’ve had in my jobs before; despite all their talk about how they’re on your side, your top advocate, your best friend, and how anyone working for the business are family, every one of them a company man through and through. Your advocate indeed. The only ones they truly advocate for are themselves and those above them. Learned a long time ago, anyone who tries selling you that bill of goods either, hope to someday become as big and lousy as their boss, or they recently bought a bridge in Brooklyn for a steal, if you know what I mean.

They would do what management typically does to their workers, like gaslighting employees into taking responsibly for executive incompetence and management’s shortcomings, being condescending, or reminding us that we have “privileges, not rights” at work, all while trying to act all buddy-buddy and that they’re just like the rest of the rank-and-file schlubs. There is however, one who was the worst out of the bunch. That one was Jasmine B.L. Laden.