I'm a wacko, a crackpot, a psycho starving artist, whatever you want to call me, I'm me.

I'm 25 years old, and my life up to this point has been wild rollercoaster, a long and winding adventure.

It all started when I was 14- I was a naive hippy child of strange parents who decided the roads was my calling, and I ran away to California and all those interesting places in between.

I learned alot about the reality of the world, of people, enough to fill many books if I ever could sit still and just write. Someday...

In the last eleven years, I've lived many places, been stuck in some terrible ones, been locked up and let out more times than I can count, and ended up in Boston, only seventy miles from home- that is, where home was when I was 14- Cape Cod.

My father is probably my greatest role model, and he's always been there for me, through thick and thin, through depression and euphoria, and through the bars of some juvenile hall somewhere I shouldn't have ended up.

My father told me that, and it's always stuck with me.

Life has settled a bit in the last few years, I've stopped drinking and using drugs, and through the help of some very important people, I've become, well, more myself.

I'd like to think of it as becoming the person I was before that person was shattered by the world.

R.I.P. Robie, Roach, Sarah, Amy, Ryan, Justin, all the ones I'm forgetting, and all the ones I can't bear to remember.