Where do I begin?

Ok, so where should I begin? Should I start where my life began? Or should I begin when my life had changed into what I was trying to achieve a few years ago? Actually, you can't really tell a real story unless you have all the facts from beginning to end right? SO... I am guessing that maybe I should start all the way from the beginning. I hope you are ready for a long story because I don't really know how to tell all about myself if I don't write it in detail. I will try to spare you all the boring and unremarkable times that don't really have any meaning if that's o.k. with you. Actually now that I think about it I don't think I will. I want to tell a story and the only way I know how is to let every detail and every experience come to life in these words that you are reading here. So here I go, prepare yourself for a wild ride through the turbulent life and twisted mind of Ron Lorenz.

I should start with talking about family cause that is the number one issue with me. I won't go into detail just yet right now because if I do, this blog will never end. But anyway, life for me began in the summer of 1980 in Long Beach, California. My mother, Peggy, and my father, Ron, had met in a bar somewhere and had dated for a few years before committing to marriage. My father had been married once before to a woman named Mindy and had a daughter through this union whose name is Brianna. My mother had also been married once before but she had not one child, but two. Her first child, my sister, was born in December of 1969 and her name is Barbara. Between my sister and my mother’s other child, Gary, my mother and her previous husband had another baby girl but opted to put the child up for adoption. The reason behind this is as of this moment unknown to me but as soon as I find out, I will update you.

Back to the story at hand, I was put through a lot of hell even before I was born. Not only did my mother and father argue on a constant basis, physical encounters were more than usual and happened very frequently. One such encounter occurred during the fourth month of my mother’s pregnancy with me. A small argument escalated into a household fight with objects being thrown and fists flying. My mother (in all her drunkedness) thought that, instead of continuing on with the lavish display of hostility towards my father, she would end the entire tirade with a single movement. She reached for her 9mm handgun and pulled the trigger. She did not fire at or even towards where my father was standing, she did not shoot at either my brother or my sister. Hell, she didn’t even aim at anything on herself that would cause too much damage. That would have been to easy! Nope, my mother looked at my father, her two other children and then down at her feet. She took a stance after deciding that her left foot was an appropriate target, closed her eyes and squeezed the trigger!