Hello.
The following is 100% true.
I am happier than you. I’d wager that my friends are as well. There are discernible and easy to understand reasons for this fact. Reasons I will detail, lightly.
But first, some back story…
From the very moment I came into existence, until about age four, my entire world and foreseeable future was so incredibly average and shockingly normal that it is not worth detailing beyond: MOM. DAD. SISTER. ME. HOUSE. SUBURBS. CAT.
then, for some stupid reason, my dad tried to cross a highway one night while drunk [to note: my dad was not a big drinker. the occasional night out with his buddies, yes, but he was a very classic american father.] and happened to meet the only pick up truck being driven on that particular stretch of highway, at that time, on that night, with that many drugs in the driver’s system.
(The experience and effects of this event are neither short, simple nor insignificant enough to wind up on tumblr. Feel free to inquire in person. My name is Ian Christopher Sutherland and I will gladly message you my phone number.)
Anyway…for the sake of this piece, I will say that the experience (not surprisingly) left a profound impact on literally every aspect of my life and how I view yours and everyone else’s and the whole thing as a unit. Life, that is.
What I mean is: My first significant memory is learning that life is finite and death is absolute and infinite and inanimate and unconscious and inescapable and inevitable and impersonifiable (word? probably not). On top of that: There is no magic force guiding anything and if there is it is awful.
Pretty bleak for a four year old.
ANYWAY
I went on living. School. My mom kicking the shit out of this gigantic new challenge. Despite the blow we had been delivered, we managed to stay afloat and level out to a pretty happy bunch for a good chunk of time. Then, my mom sort of…ehhh…lost it.
I was seven. Since before I was born, my mom has been suffering from severe bi-polar and manic depression. When I was seven, she had her first of what would be four major episodes through my life. My favorite uncle more or less handled the entire situation, including taking me and my sister into his house while my mom was hospitalized.
(The experience and effects of this event are neither short, simple nor insignificant enough to wind up on tumblr. Feel free to inquire in person. My name is Ian Christopher Sutherland and I will gladly message you my phone number.)
We carried on, still. School. House falling apart. Tensions rise between mom and sister. I make more and more friends (once, lovingly referred to as “The Band Of Broken Souls” by my grandfather) and spend more and more time outside, exploring the world, sneaking onto trains, kissing girls, learning to skate, growing up and being a miserable student. Typically, I’d cut class, go to the library for my real education and then meet my friends when class ended so we could disappear into the day, then night. My mom understood, and rarely punished me, so long as I was home safe. She was relieved that I wasn’t out getting into drugs or being murdered.
This was my routine until about seventh grade…then something in my head popped…
3 
