My Ego was bruised from an early age. Raised in the predominantly white neighborhoods on the so-called better side of town, the kids called me nigger so much I thought it was my middle name. I ran with other privileged white and black youth who did the same shit; drugs, theft, sex. I grew up feeling insecure, with a debilitating sense of unworthiness despite the privileged neighborhood where I grew up. You name it and I did it, seemingly escaping the consequences of my actions. But my Ego didn’t escape any of this shit. It was tortured, it raged, it was confused, and it has always been confrontational; that’s been its Amigo. I went to my high school class reunion with my life partner a few years back. This guy named Dan came up to us and was telling my life partner what I was like back then. Dan said to Kathleen “...Man he was always in trouble; he was always fighting...” My Ego felt used, abused and confused. But its Amigo has definitely been kicking ass and taking names from way back. Hell yeah. My Ego has him a damn Amigo.
