who am I? I dont know that even I know. I am sure the everyone has a part of me. but no one person has the whole story or has the whole personality. My parents are no help in any case as neither have time for communication. whenever I try to talk they are too busy to listen or they are freaked out by my somewhat radical views. face it, I am not your average "Utah-Mormon". And I have good right to be. I suppose I am writing this entry because I want pitty. Although I refuse to admit this to myself it is evident. I dont quite know who I am. But as for what I am I can give you my story. I have lived in Logan all my life (pathetic eh?). I remember little about my childhood other than that my parents were better. most of this is because later events would cause me to block out my young life. when I was still new in elementary school sometime, my brother became freinds with a sex-freak. until I was in fifth grade me, my sisters and my brother were all under the sexually abusive control of this person (who shall remain anonymous). In fifth grade my sister told her middle school councilor had been sexually abusing her and my brother was ripped from my idolizing perspective. Sixth grade SUCKED. about the end of seventh grade it finally surfaced that Jay (my bro) was not the center of the problem but this other fellow. however, it was no longer possible to convict him as he was no longer a minor. eventually I grew used to the strict non-comminicative parents I was now living with (same people), and grew used to not having a bro. as time went by I began to repair my now shattered reputation (in sixth grade I had become SOMEWHAT of a nerd and lost all social lust), and then my bro got out. he is perhaps. the closest to me and knows more about me then I think I do. I have since sixth grade had my share of problems which continue to shape and mold me, however they are minor compared to the everlasting hell I walk through every day. as I grow I realize that anyone who even thinks they know me begins to drift away. every freind I have ever had that I thought was my best slowly disappeared. I dont think I have ever had a freind that would tell me anything, and every person who I come to call freind finds somebody else, or I pick at their mistakes until I no longer can be cared for (something I picked up from my mom). I dont quite know why I get up every day but something continues to say if you can pull another day it will get better. the hope that shatters this dreary existance has never failed to drag me from my rest. and has never really held up its end of the bargain either. as for what I am, I am an artist, a tortured soul, a wanderer who cant seem to leave. as for who I am, I do not yet know