The T$T Beast

Hello World,

I’d love for you to meet the T$T Beast.

He was born out of fear and limitations but grew into something more.

A protector.

Growing up in Gary, Indiana in the 90s was like living in another world.

Having Sickle Cell, I was constantly force-fed fear and limits.

~You won’t live to 16.

~You’ll never have children.

~You’ll struggle in school.

~No one will hire you. You won’t work hard enough.

~Or my personal favorite; who wants to be with someone who’s always sick?

I spent a lot of time alone, afraid, and unwanted.

I hid from the world in my room or the hospital bed, hoping death would come while I was high on pain medicine. I spent days watching cartoons and pressing a pain pump.

By high school, I was a complete addict and discovered depression.

I quickly learned the streets were the easiest way to get a hospital high without the prison feeling. Whenever I came home from a hospital bid I also learned everyone wanted what I had. All the fake love came with the pop of a perc bottle.

Naturally, I grew a drug dealer ego -- the dog-eat-dog mentality. The problem was that I never checked my emotional scars and added rage and ego. I became a monster.

I became something I hated looking at.

I started cutting myself to control something else I knew well. Pain.

Again, accepting things. It is what it is, right?

I was checked out by my sophomore year - my last year of school. Searching for some kind of guidance, I turned to my father. He was a stranger to me and was starting over with a new family. So, I moved back in with my mother in Indianapolis, In.

My next choice was to take a handful of drugs and go to wrestling practice. I made it until the team warm-up lap around the mats before blacking out.

Don’t worry.

I guess I didn’t really want to die…Or God’s plan.

Either way, when I woke up in the hospital, everyone treated it like a sickle cell crisis, which means I didn’t do enough to need my stomach pumped.

Ironic.

Nevertheless, I was admitted to the hospital and thought “Hell let’s get high on the Dilaudid and try again”

Instead, a woman knocked on my door and asked if I wanted to try Art and Music Therapy.

I went because I was invited - something I did a lot due to fear of missing something. As we walked down to the playroom, she asked “what do you like to do?” A question that stumped the hell out of me.

My life was cartoons, drugs, and chaos until that point. I said writing, though.

An answer I instantly regretted.

The lady’s face lit up, and she asked what I had written.

I lied and said fanfiction.

Well, it wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the truth.

I was truly writing about how much I hate everything and everyone. I hated writing because I was horrible at spelling and grammar. So, I would get a few pages written and quit because I felt stupid. That grew into me journaling a lot about all my bright ideas that I never went after.

The lady continued to press me about my stories when we got to the playroom; asking what I was working on and if I had anything she could read… and I continued to lie.

Here comes the juicy part!

How the T$T Beast was born!

I spun a story about a werewolf who was only allowed to live because he gave away half of his soul to the devil to save his people from humans.

By the time I was finished telling her this completely bogus plot. SHE WAS PRAISING ME!

Then asking when she would be able to read it, and telling me how she wanted to help in any way she could. She was genuinely excited and interested.

I felt horrible.

…I wish I could say that’s when I started taking writing seriously, and my life changed for the better. Nope. I was still an insecure drug addict who knew how to lie well…

To be continued.

$toryTeller McKinney