I am no longer human, merely another number. Nothing more than cattle, to be done with as they see fit. My face is invisible; all that matters is the string of digits tattooed on my skin—this is me, I am theirs. This is my identity, this is my prison. Do I exist? Am I alive? …
"I read your last blog and what you said about being sixteen and asking yourself 'why do I have to have my beliefs?' resonated with me. I'd love to read how you came to terms with having certain beliefs or convictions that limit you from living the 'normal American' life. Assuming that you have come …
Continue reading How I’ve Come To Grips With NOT Being Normal
For some not having a social security is a novel or foreign concept. For me, I know no other way. Truman Lamb is the one that set my story, as all great grandfathers do for their descendants. It started with a decision that involved a conflict between his convictions toward God and life and his …
The Girl Who Doesn't Exist 