They saw me as small, weak, and awkward. I was the one that didn't fit in anywhere or with anyone. I was picked on, beaten up, and pushed around. I was constantly moved from home to home at a near-consistent pace to ensure I remembered my place in their world. I was never a part of "the system" as a child, but rather juggled between family members. I had acts performed against me as a child that would send people to prison these days, only to be turned away when I reached out for help. Blind eyes cannot see those who were born to be invisible. And for most of my existence, I believed I was the person they saw. I always became who they wanted me to be. As a result, I never really knew who I was. Because of these things, my personality appeared to alter every few months.
I recall a time in my younger years when I was fond of saying that I had lived four lifetimes by the age of 14. I first sat down to write my story when I was only 18 and had titled my script "A Childs Cry", but reliving the pain then was so hard that I never made it past the third chapter before giving up my efforts. As I sit down today to try again, another 33 years have passed, and most of the memories that compelled me to write back then have become clouded or lost to time. However, although I intend to share much of what I remember of the last 50-plus years, those hard memories are not the focus of my story. Instead, I wish to tell the story of the me they didn't see. I prefer to tell the story of the man I became inside, despite the efforts of others to disregard me.
Here is where my thoughts become difficult to put into words because where does one begin? Do I start with my earliest memories that started me on this path? Or do I begin by telling the story of the man I have grown to be, the man I see when I look in the mirror? Should I tell all and end up with a 400-page novel? Or hold back and only reveal what is needed so that the few who honestly care can see my side of things? Will anyone ever read my words anyway? I guess fate and time will tell.
I suppose my story should begin with where I am now. I am in a happy place and feel good about the path that I am currently on. I have the love of a woman who uplifted me where so many others had let me down, despite her struggles with depression. I am also the proud owner of a small, handcrafted soap company that I use to help others in need. These are words I could not have written a month ago. I was in a downward spiral, a mind full of fear and confusion. I am a person who has lived with mental illness most of my life. Major depression, severe anxiety, and social disorders are at the top of the list. And my first attempt to take my own life happened at the age of 8.
I first applied for disability benefits at the age of 21, only to have my application rejected. It would be another ten years before I made a second attempt. At 31, I tried again, and my application was instantly approved, receiving my first disability check only one month after my phone interview with Social Security. What I didn't know at the time was that by going on SSDI, I would become a part of "the system" and spend the next ten years as a guinea pig to countless doctors, counselors, and pharmaceutical companies. After my last attempted suicide in my early forties, I decided I had had enough. I stopped taking my medication, I quit going to doctors, and I tried to take my life back. I became a better version of myself and worked hard to hide what was inside from the rest of the world. I dedicated myself to trying to help others and make up for some of the wrongs of my past. And although my heart was in the right place, my mind was not. I made many rash decisions without fully thinking about the consequences of my actions. Many people saw my weakness and took advantage of my kindness. I told myself that this was okay because I was helping, not realizing that I was only hurting myself further. But I am ending all of that and making smarter choices now. I restructured my soap-making business and products so that I could use my work to help those who, like me, choose to help others. That was my original intent with my business. Unfortunately, I did not run my business correctly for the first few years and donated more products than I sold. It took me four years to finally put together a proper business model that I feel will allow me to do the good work I had wanted to do all along. At the same time, I wanted to be able to supplement my Social Security income to survive. It is currently still costing me more to maintain than what I am making in return, and it is putting a dent in my SSDI payments that makes day-to-day life a struggle. But in the end, I feel that it will all be worth the effort. 

* Most people know me by my first and middle names, Ronald Allen. I stopped using my given last name, Nunn, many years ago, other than on legal documents. This is because some of the people from that side of my family who gave me that name not only did the most harm in my story, but they also turned their backs on me at a key low point in my life. That time was one of my suicide attempts while I was homeless, which occurred just a short time after my sister Alma's successful suicide in 2008. I do not hold any grudges, and I wish them every happiness in life. I simply wish to no longer carry the name that caused so much pain.