Being a firstborn boomer, I started the grief ride young as I packed up and walked away from home at age eight when my father raped my beloved sister, and the police quickly returned me to the inhuman wilderness. My first girlfriend chose another, and that stung. Then the second chose another, at age sixteen, from then on I could never love a woman again, and adding to the problem, my mother was a narcissistic witch. Society should have put me on a suicide watch, but in the fifty’s children were to be seen and not heard. My solution was military combat in the Vietnam War, as it was useful for men like me. Accolades for valor lifted my spirit, I did not want to return to the states, but a gunshot wound quickly changed that. I’ll borrow the term hell hath no furry and give it to the veteran's hospital, the staff was a group of sick dudes with power over others, I still remember the look on their faces when I would attempt suicide. I fought with the veteran affairs for twenty years and won. Now in the Asian backwater, I live a delightful life free from the contemptuous hassle brought on my life.