My life is a tale of toil and turmoil.As is with all creatures of my species, I was birthed in torment, baptized in blood and amniotic fluids. The depths of my being were filled with the viscous liquids which I had to churn out from my system as I choked in an unfamiliar atmosphere. Contrary to popular opinion, the first contact beyond the darkness of the womb is not the warm embrace of the mother's robust buxom. No, it is the cold, bloodied latex gloves that grasp around the shriveled skin of pathetic pink mass, hanging it like a slaughtered sow at the butchery. The warm kisses and hugs only come after the seemingly cruel beating of the buttocks, the first act of violence, albeit non-malicious, that one would suffer throughout the rest of this relentless journey.
Of course, it would be an exaggeration to claim that I remember any of this, but the events that followed suite, the ones that remain ever so sharply in my scarred memory, seem to continue the pattern of violence, pain, and repugnance that were present at the beginning of my being.
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