As a baby I loved all of life, and I moved in love. I could feel the presence of God. I unequivocally knew I had a special place in the universe. I knew there was a meaning to life, and that I had an astounding purpose full of goodness to fulfill. As a child I still knew these things, but they became more distant. The knowledge of my destiny crept into my head and was less in my heart, and I became confused and conflicted. I thought it was right there, that I could retrieve it at any time, but it was fading away. I still had passion for life, but I doubted I was worthy of love. A hole was burned in my soul, and it caused atrophy and weakness. I thought I could overcome it, but it had far more power than I knew.
In my room I seethed with hatred. I felt totally alone. I went to my cigar box with my special things in it. I picked through my marbles, a switchblade, strange rocks, a gold chain necklace, a stopwatch, firecrackers, and three cool Hot Wheels cars. I meant to tear apart something. I picked up my very favorite little blue race car. I wanted to show them I didnt care; I would take it out on myself. I had my fingers on the wheel ready to pull it off. I was tormented with indecision for a long time. I was going to do it because I hated myself; then I decided not to. Back and forth I went. I was keenly aware that this was self-destructive. I feared that tearing the wheel off meant I was crossing a line away from God. NO! Yes, I wanted to hurt and destroy. I tore the wheel off. I hated myself and felt defeated, hopeless. I wanted to put it back on but couldnt. I tore all the wheels off. Nobody cared. I wanted someone to care, and I wanted help. The hole was burned into my soul.