Hello again, everyone here in the lovely WOWAY community! 
In my brief time here, I already feel such an incredible warmth and connection with the amazing people here. First, I want to thank each and every one of you for... well, for being yourselves! I've been blown away by the kindness I've received here and seen here, and you all have truly and deeply touched my heart. You've moved me so much, as a matter of fact, that I want to share something with you that few in this world have been privy to.
Truth be told, the bulk of the reactions to what I've shared have been... well, negative. Since I'm going to spoiler tag a great deal of this due to the fact that some may be young and probably shouldn't read this, and others may find it very unpleasant... I will simply say to those who don't read it (so that they will hopefully understand), I understand you are confused. All I will say is that I have done nothing wrong (it might sound like I have a horrible secret about something I did, and this isn't the case). Rather, to put it very lightly, life has chosen to test me greatly, and I have been through a nightmarish existence.
And because of one Alfred Matthew Yankovic... I still draw breath. I still have life. I still am amongst the living. Perhaps I don't belong anywhere in this world, and I'm not worthy to be among such wonderful people as those here at WOWAY... but I'm still alive. And it's all because of the man millions love, adore, and know as "Weird Al" Yankovic.
At times, maybe I will put humor into this bit of writing, but it doesn't mean that I'm taking it lightly. Rather, humor has always been one of my "weapons" to help and heal not only myself (and deal with the harshness of life and its many challenges), but others as well. I love making people laugh. I love moving and inspiring people. I love making people happy and hopefully bringing even the slightest bit of goodness or anything positive into other lives and the world... even just for a moment. And honestly, I LIVE for these things.
It has forever been my life's mission and greatest dream (and the only dream that survived of my two ultimate dreams), and Al... and especially meeting him... just solidified for me that I need to keep this dream alive and pursue it at all costs. Maybe I'll never be successful. Maybe when I no longer draw breath, I'll have never made any difference at all. I just hope that I will have never been a negative in another life. And no matter how heartbroken and hopeless I often feel, or worthless that I think I am, I fight.
I know it's ironic, since you all have had such sweet and kind words for me (which I don't feel I deserve, but am honored that you think that way of me). Someone so sweet, genuine, and kind fighting doesn't make sense, does it? Well, I do. I fight to get through each day. I fight for those I care about. And I fight to keep my dream alive and do whatever I can to better other lives even just for a moment.
Even though I am putting great care into this bit of writing, I know I'll succumb to the fact that I'll probably forget something or make errors. No worries, as I'll be beating myself up over that. It always seems to happen, and will probably happen after I post this. I'll forget something special or important. And honestly, even if I don't, my story is too much to tell and too long to tell. However, I think you'll get a good grasp of why and how I am the way I am after reading this. And just as important, I hope you'll realize just how utterly beautiful and special Al is, if you already haven't.
I'm well-aware that no matter how careful I'm being with my tale, I'm putting myself at risk. Not just for being found, or being accused of being a phony (I swear to you I'm telling the truth; as you'll see, I'm no stranger to not being believed and also of having no one care about me), or of having your kindhearted opinions of me being tarnished. Don't feel badly if you can't see me the same way, or if you want nothing to do with me. I completely understand if you want this to be my final post here at WOWAY. It's difficult to process how a person can even be human after all these things. And sadly, I'm used to being seen as something much less than human. It's being treated like a human being that I still am not used to.
Anyway, I think this is enough of an introduction. So, now, what might end up being my very last appearance in the WOWAY community...
THE LEGEND OF YANKOPUNK
A long time ago, in the magical kingdom of Hyrule, there existed a sacred golden relic known as the Triforce. It was composed of three entities: Power, Wisdom, and Courage. One fateful day...
Wait a minute... this is all wrong! Sorry. This is THE LEGEND OF ZELDA. Wrong story. Those responsible have been sacked. Here's the correct tale:
CHAPTER 1: THE SAGA BEGINS
I've never had the best of luck, to be honest. That will become painfully apparent as this tale unfolds. Also, until this year, my birthday has always been the worst day of the year for me. I dread it and would rather just take a magical sleeping potion and skip the day. It's just always been a painful and unhappy day for me. I get treated even more poorly on this day, for some strange cosmic reason. I have nobody around save my brother, my parents, and the only friend I have in the world who even bother to wish me a Happy Birthday. There's always some bad luck, and something goes wrong that has me depressed and in tears that day... without fail... every single year.
Ironically, because of Al, this year was a bit different. My actual birthday was still unhappy and filled with pain, but earlier in the month, I had gotten to meet my hero to celebrate my birthday. Needless to say, it's the best birthday gift ever, and I doubt it'll ever be topped. But we will talk about that later. First, let's start with the very first birthday I had... which was unhappy for various reasons: the day I was born.
When it came time for me to enter the world, my parents already had their hands full with my brother. We've never had much money, and I can only imagine how much stress their lives had with a young child already. So, naturally, I started off on the bad foot by coming into their lives, which I still feel badly about. I would later learn that I wasn't wanted. I was a mistake, an accident, a "surprise" or whatever you want to call it. And if that wasn't enough to make them unhappy, I was born sick. And since that day, I've always battled illness. I've never truly been well.
Before I continue, I want to make it crystal clear that I love my family dearly. I don't intend to demonize them, and I kindly ask that nobody else do that, either. Their lives have been filled with pain and difficulty, and I believe they did the best they could. That's all you can ask of someone, and should ask of someone. And what doesn't change is that I love them, and even if at times it doesn't seem like it, I know and hope they love me, too. It takes a lot to stick by a person who has been dealt a horrible hand in life, and they've done that. I feel so blessed to have a family, and I work to make every day with them as happy as possible. So many have no family, so I am truly grateful.
The bulk of my struggles began as being born with various respiratory ailments such as asthma, allergies, and the like. What a way to come into the world, huh? Quickly, my condition deteriorated and I was diagnosed with permanent chronic lung disease, which I still battle to this day. My lungs are scarred and probably resemble those of an old person, and at one point, my lung function had deteriorated to the point where one lung barely functioned at all. Still, I fought and trained my body to adapt to these handicaps because I've always fought for my future.
CHAPTER 2: YOUNG, DUMB, AND UGLY (WELL, MAYBE NOT DUMB)
As anyone with respiratory or other ailments knows, one of the main weapons modern medicine has come up with are steroids. They can work wonders and save lives, but they often come with a price: horrible side effects. It's bad enough to be placed on them for a brief time, but unfortunately, I've been on them for nearly my entire life. What has saved my life has also, sadly, ruined my life and made it quite a miserable existence.
Because I've been on them nearly my entire life, I've always been overweight. And no matter how hard I've worked to reverse the damage, my illness always overtakes things and it's back on medications and therapies that cause the weight gain to continue or weight loss to stall. If that's not bad enough, another side effect of the steroids has been the ruining of my skin. It's caused me scarring, breakouts (which also come about along with my hair falling out in small clumps due to extreme stress), discolorations, and other maladies. Luckily, most of it is covered by clothing.
But that's not all! Not only are you fat and ugly (which makes you a nice, big... no pun intended... target for others to hurt), but your eyesight is ruined by the steroids. Yep! You always have to wear prescription eyeglasses. And because of the damage done, there's no chance it will improve the way it can with others who wear eyeglasses. Sorry, kid, but as you're already seeing, life and people can and will be cruel to you. It's a shame, because I see in photos that I was such a cute baby. I even won second place in a baby contest for most beautiful baby, so yay for baby me! Maybe if I had better luck or maybe with a great bit of surgery, I could actually be decent-looking, but life doesn't work out that way. Anyway...
As you all see everyday, people can be quite unfair. Most will often take a quick look at someone or something and make their judgment. And so, I deal with said judgment every single day of my life. If you were to look at me on the street, you'd think nothing was wrong with me. You might just think, "Ugh! This ugly guy probably just sits on his butt eating junk food all day, doesn't care about himself, and just looks hideous by his own doing! He deserves to be ridiculed and hurt!"
Even worse, it doesn't matter most times if you try to explain things. People don't care, they won't listen, or they choose not to believe you. It makes you feel so hopeless. I'm ashamed to admit that there's been many nights in the hospital or crying in my bed at home (quietly so that my family wouldn't hear me and get angry) where I wish I had the power to refuse the medical care so that I could just stop drawing breath and leave this world peacefully. And there's been many times where I've been brought back to life in said hospitals, only to wish that I hadn't been blessed with such skilled doctors and nurses.
My immune system has always been crappy, as you can imagine. I'd always develop infections or other illnesses, and they would always take a huge toll. For example, due to multiple ear infections and a few blows to the head, I have to pay close attention to certain sounds, particularly in conversations with others. I hate my voice due to chronic throat infections and illness, various injuries, and other situations including a botched medical treatment where my throat was burned a bit. I often wonder what my true, no doubt much better, voice would sound like had my luck been much better. Also, I loved singing and doing voices, and as you can imagine, this ruined that.
I've also been robbed of the ability to play music well or continue my studies with that (I've lost any abilities I learned) due to other factors I'll talk about later. So, I can't bring about happiness or cheer in that way, sadly. Another mild, but sometimes annoying side effect of the medications: my hair and nails grow very quickly. Just a small pain compared to everything, but in a way, it balances out because depression and stress often leads to me having my hair fall out in small clumps. That, and when my hair gets long, it gets a bit curly and quite difficult to manage! Could be worse, I guess.
CHAPTER 3: MR. YANKOPUNK IN THE IRON LUNG (OR OXYGEN TENT, MORE LIKE IT)
Everyone hates hospitals. I am certainly no exception. Adding up all the days, I've spent over 10 years in the hospital. Yes, you read that right. It makes it difficult to try and be human as it is when most of what you've known are painful medical procedures, tests, and medication regimens. It's even worse when you are "lucky" enough to go to school and just about everyone treats you like garbage and makes your already miserable life even worse. But, we'll get to that later. All in all, I never got to be a kid in many ways, and had to grow up quickly, if that makes sense.
Despite these hardships, I pushed myself to the limits (and I still do, to this day) and every single year was at the top of my class. I would even have my school lessons and work sent to the hospital so that I wouldn't be behind. I'd have them hook up IVs on my non-dominant hand (I am ambidextrous in certain ways, though), and when that wasn't possible, I'd train myself to write and function with the other hand. I wasn't going to let anything stop me from having a brighter future.
I have, literally, been a fan of Al's my entire life. Ever since I could comprehend the English language (and I was reading, writing, and speaking much earlier than most kids), I was mesmerized by Al. I loved him and all that he would partake in. Every spare moment was spent with me listening to his songs over and over, hoping that MTV would play one of his videos (I would run and try to find a tape to record it if I could; this was especially true of AL TV), and wearing out copies of UHF. I remember the day I happened to see it at a video store. "I need this!" I shouted and begged my parents to buy me a copy. And as time went on, I would return to the store and have them special-order me more copies as they stopped working properly.
Many nights were spent in my bed, crying myself to sleep as Al's voice soothed me through my headphones. As it would always become time to check into the hospital, I refused to go in unless my mother brought my Walkman and collection of Al's cassettes. Many batteries were worn out, as you can imagine. Al made life so much more bearable. I remember vividly all the lonely days and nights with an IV in my arm, being shuffled back and forth to various areas for testing, being stuck in an oxygen tent... just letting Al's voice and accordion transport me to a faraway, peaceful place. Not a place where the air smelled like warm root beer and the towels were oh so fluffy... but a place where I was free, happy, and well.
His music in my headphones made the most painful procedures bearable. Imagine that your lungs are filled with so much fluid that it becomes nearly solid. Now imagine that they hook up this device that looks like something out of a torture movie... to your chest, which is already painfully tender due to coughing and other ailments. They switch the device on and it feels like a literal jackhammer on your chest. It's necessary to try and break up the fluid into something that can be drained from your body, usually by coughing and vomiting. As you howl in agony and beg for mercy, tears running down your face, all you can do is turn the volume knob so that Al is all that you hear. I wouldn't have made it through this hell without him.
In a children's hospital, it's a sad experience. It's even sadder when you're in one of the areas where the sickest kids are kept. If you're lucky, once in a while, you're allowed into a common area with the other patients. You forget about everything for a brief while and if you're lucky, one of them is friendly enough to play with you and make you feel like a kid. The worst part is when you never see them again the next day. Sometimes, they were lucky enough to go home. And then there were others who... you know what happened. 
One of my fondest, yet most heartbreaking memories, was of being depressed in my hospital room. I was a little bit older than most of the other patients at the time, and one of the nurses insisted that I join the kids from the oncology ward in decorating cookies for a fundraiser. I didn't want to do anything but sit in my misery with Al in my headphones, but I had no choice. I carefully made my way along the corridor, holding onto the pole with the IV machine, and took a seat next to one of the many cancer patients in the room.
I wasn't expecting for them to be so utterly sweet. They seemed to enjoy that an older kid... well, not much older than them, but still... wanted to hang out with them. Messes were made, hugs were exchanged, and cookies were decorated. The next time I was released briefly and back in my own bed at home, I put on my headphones and... even at that young age... realized that many of those kids weren't going to reach my age. In addition to my usual tears of sadness, I had hot tears of anger... wondering why I couldn't take the place of one of them. This was during a time when I was going through my darkest years, as you'll see. I felt that any one of them would be more worthy of life than I was. Finally, once again, Al lulled me to sleep. Ironically, I remember that night, the last song I heard was "Like A Surgeon." I guess the sounds of the monitor beeping made me feel "at home," away from my "home away from home."
Aside from the hopes of a brighter future, I always looked forward to the next AL TV, music video, album, or anything Al had a hand in. That's what kept me going.
CHAPTER 4: EVEN WORSE
"Okay, kid. This is where it gets complicated." (Points to you if you get that reference) Rather, this is where people often turn on me and I end up being treated badly. Or, if I'm lucky, this is where I run for my life and hide until it feels safe enough to try and ease the pangs of loneliness and reach out to others someplace new. Things would be bad enough if these were the only horrors I've experienced. And even after I share these real-life nightmares, there's a lot that I've gone through but haven't put into words. I think this is a big enough taste of my darkness to at least attempt to understand why and how I am the way I am.
I am completely prepared if I'm never seen in the same way again. I'm often abused, abandoned, or seen as sub-human. Even the best of souls can sometimes not deal with how to see me after learning of this. They can't shake the images from their mind. They see them every time they talk to me from then on. I become a sub-human creature. Not a human being, not an animal... but something else entirely. Still, I just want to show how and why I am the way I am, and how Al has literally saved my life over and over.
The darkest time of my life came at the end of elementary school and during my middle school / junior high years. I was already a lonely outcast due to my illnesses, unappealing appearance, nerdiness / intelligence, you name it. I was also a very caring individual, a "good" kid who never got into trouble, and no matter how badly I was treated, I never wanted to hurt anyone and just wanted to make others happy.
Spoiler:
Unfortunately, that just made me a prime target for bullies. Being bullied is bad enough, but I had no clue what I was in store for. The actions I faced from these people, who may have very well been demons wrapped in human flesh... had lasting effects on me... ones that I still deal with to this very day.
I faced their wrath nearly every single day. It's bad enough to be called names and be the victim of small pranks, the occasional shove, and whatnot. But what these monsters did went way beyond that. These are things you wouldn't wish upon your worst enemy. Throughout it all, I tried telling myself, "At least while you're having this done to you, someone else can't be hurt by them." As I mentioned before in the introduction thread, I love pro wrestling. At one point, despite the hardships I faced, I wanted badly to be one (I still have dreams about it, funny enough... literal dreams, of course, while I sleep). Well, as I've gotten older and I see what the legendary grapplers of yesteryear go through as their bodies break down, it's ironic that I see that I was broken down, too.
In terms of physical abuse, I had just about everything done to me. The occasional slap and slamming into a locker would've been paradise compared to what awaited me. Some choice examples: one person distracts me from the front. Then, another sneaks up from behind and smashes my skull in from behind with one of those oh-so-heavy textbooks we've all had in school. I was very lucky that my glasses would stay on. I could only imagine the hell I would've caught from my parents if I had broken them. Looking back at the symptoms, I realize I might have very well had several concussions. However, I had to hide my pain and my torment, as you'll see.
"Hey! Let's throw him down the stairs, and for extra fun, let's throw his very heavy backpack on top of him when his sorry, fat body smacks the ground! Oh, that's so fun! Now let's take it a step further and take him to the next floor. We'll team up and throw him over the railing! It's only one flight and there's all that solid floor to cushion his fall! Besides, he's fat, so it won't hurt him!" My school was poor and had no security cameras then. Also, the staff were miserable people and nobody cared.
Nobody would listen if I happened to fight past the shame and the threats from the bullies ("We'll kill you if you ever tell anyone!" I later found out from someone that knew them that they eventually did plan to kill me. Their plans were foiled when I became so sick that I had to be homeschooled one year. As far as I know, most of them ended up dead or in prison, thankfully. I feel bad to say, "thankfully," but that's how I feel)
Sadly, I couldn't even turn to my family. Even when I fought past the shame and wanted to confide in them, I couldn't. My brother and I have a better relationship now, but he admits that most of my life, he's hated me. It took him becoming sick to heal that way and for us to build a happier relationship. My parents had so much to deal with already, and so they often snapped at me. "What's wrong with you now?!" I cost them so much in medical bills, they were tired of all the doctor appointments and medicines, and of me crying and being unhappy all the time. There wasn't much money, they had hard jobs, and they were upset all the time.
"You can't have any problems! Wait until you're grown up and have bills! Those are problems! Shut up or I'll give you something to cry about!" I had no friends, and I was alone. It was so sad and shameful. The only "friends" I had were Al, movies, music, comics, games, and the other things I enjoy. That, and the hopes that even just one of my two dreams would come true, or that I'd have a good job with good money if I worked hard in school and went to university.
Anyway, I was being beaten badly. Nearly every day. The bulk of them look place in the bathroom. They would either shove me into the room, or catch me using the bathroom, lock the door, and go to town. I would be outnumbered so badly that even if I got a few good shots in (watching lots of wrestling and martial arts movies helped, but only to a certain extent), it wouldn't be long until they gained the advantage and hit even harder in revenge for my blows.
These monsters knew what they were doing, too. They hit me in the face or head only sometimes, but mostly kept to my body (wherever I was clothed) so that it wouldn't show and they could keep doing things. My body was already mangled by illness and injuries as it was, but now I had more bruises and cuts to deal with. I'd have to visit the bathroom or shower during odd hours and when alone so that I could hide my injuries. Wearing lots of covering was no problem since I was overweight and ashamed of my appearance.
Sometimes, I would even try little bits of makeup (I loved, and still do love, acting and learned a little about stage makeup and such) to mask things at times. Any bruise or such caught by my mother would be written off easily out of fear with an excuse like falling, hitting myself on something, and so on. I was on medications that made me clumsy as it was, and another factor was in play for that, too, as you'll see. I used all my acting skill to pretend everything was alright.
The beatings got so bad sometimes that they would break one of my limbs, for instance. I was stuck through a hellish time of dealing with a broken arm or leg all day at school until I could get home, if I couldn't pass off a schooltime injury. I would "play" outside and then stage a horrible accident to explain things. Naturally, my parents grew angry at my clumsiness and it just meant more medical bills and trips to the hospital. And due to my conditions and medical past, nothing was thought of it.
Other times included once where I nearly made it out of the bathroom and into the safety of the hallway. I pulled a trick from one of my favorite cinematic heroes, Marty McFly, and distracted one of the bullies in the bathroom. When he turned, I kicked him in the crotch as hard as I could, and then shoved him into some of the others, knocking them over. Just as I reached to open the door after unlocking it, I was thrown backward onto the ground. As revenge, they decided to remove my pants, stuff paper towels in my mouth to silence me, and kick me several times in the crotch. When I slowly began urinating blood onto the ground, they stopped and left me there crying and needing to clean up the shameful mess I made.
Somehow, my body would manage to heal from these injuries on its own. If only my body was good at healing from the other things.
As if the horrors of being verbally and physically abused nearly every day weren't bad enough... my innocence was completely shattered soon enough. It adds another element of horror to be sexually violated repeatedly, too. When you're a child growing up, you shouldn't have to be worried about bullies knocking you to the ground, beating you up, pulling down your pants, and then giving you internal injuries by... shoving things inside you.
As luck would have it, some medications I was on ("fun" fact: at one point, I took at least 36 medications a day just to stay alive; you could've cut me open and my body would've been a bloody pharmacy!) caused constipation. As if going to the restroom wasn't painful enough, it became such a nightmare that I avoided it for as long as I could. I hated eating already, and so I avoided it even more because I meant I would eventually have to use the toilet. I had bleeding for the longest time, and even sometimes now, I still do. Thankfully, the worst of that has passed.
I lived secretly with so much shame. You see stories in the news and movies / TV and the bulk of sexual assaults reported seemed to be female. It made me think, "It couldn't have been the 'R' word. They don't show that happening to guys. Is it my fault? Maybe I'm bad and that's why I'm sick and being hurt. Something has to make it all make sense!" And of course, the bullies would always taunt and tease me afterwards, saying I liked it, that I was gay (nothing wrong with that, of course, but I wasn't and am not), and so on. They seemed to want to drive me to my death, if they didn't kill me first.
Do you see what I mean? People often don't see me the same, or as human, after hearing this. Sometimes they don't believe me... or they even hate me. Sometimes I'll become an easy target for them to hurt. "He's already broken and not even human, so it doesn't count. He can't possibly feel any emotion anymore. He's just a shell. It won't count as hurting someone, so it's alright. I'll take advantage of his heart and kindness. Nobody cares about him. He's trash."
I guess here is where I'll mention the second dream that died around this time. When I was little, along with the dream of making others happy, etc. (hopefully through performing or creating, just like Al)... my other dream was to experience true love. I wanted to find someone and love them with all I had, and feel that in return, too. I felt that if I found that one special girl and we would be beside each other always, nothing else mattered in life.
I wouldn't care if I had a crappy job or even wandered through a series of crappy ones like George Newman. Every day, I would get to see the one I loved more than anyone else in the world. I would be there for her no matter what, make her so happy, and she would do the same for me. No matter what, it'd be us against the world, and all we needed was each other.
At this point, as I went through this private hell, and my looks continued to worsen (and any work towards improving them became impossible or undone), I eventually would accept (no matter how much it hurt and, I'll admit, sometimes still does) that nobody would ever find me attractive (who could blame them, honestly?) or love me in that way. I would always be single and alone. And besides, I couldn't cope with having to let them know about what I've been through. Who would want someone like that? And honestly... it just messed me up to where I'm probably beyond repair.
It is what it is, and how it has to be, I guess. I sometimes tell myself, "Hey, you're keeping balance for the universe. You will go without so that someone will get to experience love." You can't have darkness without light, peanut butter without jelly, and Al without his accordion. I know I'm young, and many will think I'm being foolish, but I know my fate. Forever alone isn't just a meme... but a lifestyle for me. But... that's how it has to be, and how the twinkie wiener sandwich crumbles.
Statistics: Posted by Yankopunk — Sun Jul 31, 2016 2:20 pm