I decided to write down my life story on a whim.  I've been so many places in my past and I think it's long over due that it was all spread out before me.  Being back at my roots, or rather what I consider to be my roots, brings back so many memories. Most of them hurt.  Who I was and who I am now; it's a pang of regret and self acknowledgement all in one fell swoop.  Never in a thousand years did I see myself where I am now.  And where am I?  I'm still trying to get comfortable in my skin.  But it's always best to start at the beginning.  So here I go.

I was born on December 3rd, 1987.  There was no hospital with bright lights to welcome me into this world.  I was born in my mum's mothers home.  Duefully unwanted by the world at large.  Most of all my grandmother.  What one needs to understand is my parents had me at a very young age.  My mum was 16 when she gave birth to me.  My dad, 18.  They were young and in love, and everyone else was just jealous.  Named for my father, and his father before him, I was called Jacob Scott Anderson III.  Later on my personailty would conform my first name to simply Jake.  It suits me better. My parents eloped when my mothers family disowned her when she claimed she would not give me up for adoption.  They wanted her to become a prestegious writer and she wanted to be wife and mother to my father and I.  Struggling to support us, my father began working in the family business while attending law school.  I don't remember much from my child hood.  Most of which was spent outside or causing some sort of trouble.  I was close to my parents though for they were all I had at the time.  We got the hang of things as families go.  We became grounded in London where my father found an upstanding job with a noted law firm there.  When I turned 8 my mother informed me that I would soon be welcoming a baby brother to our little family.  Being an only child for 8 years it's hard to adjust to not being the center of attention.  And looking back I see now why I did the things I did for attention. I felt that Patrick, my brother, unknowingly stole the affection I so craved.  We got on though and soon we were inseperable.  This short-lived happieness was not to last though.  

Divorce.  I still cringe when I hear this word.  My world came to a shattering halt when the two people I loved more than anything else in this world told me that they were seperating.  My father stupidly went out on my mother and when she found out she was crushed.  Seeing no other alternative to her pain I imagine, she decided to flee.  My mum wanted to move to America, a life long dream of hers.  Her bestfriend  had recently moved to the states. We were to move there.  Dayton, Ohio.  Patrick was still young and optimistic.  But I was now 16.  A teenager.  And the very thought of moving to America nauseated me.  But I felt I had to.  My mother needed me,