Born in Grand Rapids, Michigan on November 5th, 1990. Following my parents divorce when i was 6, my mother moved us up north to small town called Brethren, where my parents insisted on using me as a puppet in their schemes to get back at one another. So needless to say I was ready to leave. After graduation, from high school I joined the Marines.

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During my time served, I was apart of a recapture tactics team guarding nuclear weapons for two years. Then in 2011, Uncle Sam transferred me to an infantry unit where I deployed to Afghanistan, in 2012. While deployed, I had a few rounds from an AK-47 hit my flak jacket, and I was blown up by an IED. The shit my unit went through was not your typical run at the mill, things were chaotic. When we'd returned to base, often times I would listen to music, as would help calm my nerves; and vice versa, help ignite the beast inside before we stepped out on patrol. 

 

After returning home from deployment, I felt misplaced. Often not understanding why the relationships I had previously, with family and friends, were no longer the same. It's as if there's been a dark cloud overshadowing me ever since. The shrink tells me it’s PTSD, and that I should just relax and kick back till they bury me. In fact, her exact words were, "If you keep working, theres a high percentage you will commit suicide." Which really told me one thing, she may know about PTSD, but she doesn't know a thing about me.