My earliest memories in El Dorado Hills were watching the the karate kid and hearing whip my hair by willow smith. I remember also dropping charcoal on a mans car from the second story porch. I lived in section 8 housing for 12 or more years.

When I reminisce about those days a dark and lonely depression fills my mind. Traumatic fights fueled by alcohol between my parents , my dads blood on the wood of my bunk bed… Thousands of hours staring at screens, the computer, the tablet, a nintendo ds. My stoic self hatred of being mixed, self-isolation and anxiety plagued me for years.

The oppression of school ruined me. I could never find my voice, I was consumed by a quiet on my end, loathing of all the blackness in me. I gleefully embraced any mention of my so called white characteristics, I was most of all confused. Confused by going to a nearly all white school, confused that it was only I and a couple of other kids who came from those apartments and everyone else lived in gated communities. The confusion over who I was and why I never saw those white kids from school playing outside.

White supremacy pulled me into its grasp. This was around 2016/2017 when right wing and fascist content was swirling around all over youtube. It influenced me and a lot of other young kids, I remember joking about how paris was a muslim and garbage city. Jokes about how immigrants had taken over europe, and there was the sjw stuff too.

What isolated me a lot were grades. I luckily never had the cult of grades and college aspiration drilled into by my parents. The academics never enchanted me, I do have a liking of history but a lot of that is pop history youtube slop.

Grades are awful. I hate all that bullshit school work and tests. It is a prison, and once you get out you either go to another set of meaningless monkey bar prisons or the plantation. All that new adult freedom at college, now you’ll get to experience adulthood and the adult principals will sick the cops on ya if you don’t like their investment in genocidal nations. If you haven’t started work yet, that is all that awaits us in this sick society, it all leads up to work. Not work for yourself, but work to make the rich get richer and keep you poorer.

My parents say to me “how can you not like work if you haven’t worked a day at all?” as if a spectator to a slave plantation cannot easily make out who are the slaves and who are the masters. You work and you are the slave to your boss, the state, to capitalism.

I never did have a climatic reckoning with my racism. I got even more racist as time went on, I lurked on 4chan and an 8chan alternative through 2020 and 2021. I was gleeful during the 2020 election when it looked like trump had won the first day. Trump hadn’t done anything for me ever, but as a confused, dissatisfied, inferiority complex ridden, and fearful young person I rooted for him. Not that I agreed with his neo-con agenda or any of his politics, it was an adolescent cheering on for a fight between two dogs in a ring.

I never felt like I had a team or a belonging, I am a so called mixed person and I ran away in shame of being called black, black to me was associated with my section 8 housing and being black was not normal. Section 8 housing was not normal, curly hair was not normal, having an afro was not normal, not living in a gated community was not normal. My coping mechanism was using the computer and sinking into the digital space. A space that is still rife with racist and fascist pieces of shit, there was a belonging I felt towards that space.

I still don’t fully understand how fucked up this all was. It’s hard to articulate how american society robbed me from loving myself, I was even prisoner to myself. I reinforced racism against myself, against my own sisters and cousin.

My last year of high school in person I was a near total outcast, a shut in only going to school and staying inside all day on repeat. I talked with other students now and then, I kept to myself mostly. Near the end I ditched my weightlifting class every other day, I never signed up for weightlifting it was chosen for me. I was too depressed to consider lifting weights, there was no drive.

Before I left I was failing most of my classes. I never had to deal with the fallout of this cause my dad moved to an even more isolated, white, and racist place. Placerville, California. Granted I haven’t experienced much racism here, my neighbors are chill. But I never saw any white live matters and patriot front graffiti in El Dorado Hills…

Ironically living in this isolated place allowed to reflect on what the hell happened to me before. How I was humiliated and walked the path of self hatred back and fourth. I never embraced victimhood or a reformist mindset. It was anarchy that pulled me out from the pit of self-hatred. Anarchy gave me my dignity back. The joy of being a racist piece of shit was smashed and set alight.

I enjoyed smashing cement truck windows. When I’m in jail it’ll be anarchy that makes me smile.