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Do you guys know the study that Stef mentions saying that almost all violent criminals were abused as children? A few articles I found quote these numbers 14% of all men in prison in the USA were abused as children. 36% of all women in prison were abused as children. Thanks!

My sister had my niece. Meggan, back in 1989, when she was only 19 years old. I was 15 at the time. I remember that at that age, I had very little empathy and very low emotional intelligence. When I heard stories of people being hurt, whether they be kids or adults, I tended to shrug it off and go about my day. I don't know if I was similar to most teenagers or if I had an issue that stemmed from my childhood upbringing, but that's not the topic for another day. I'll just say, that I'm a completely different person now. I feel deep, emotional stress when I hear about children being hurt. I wish I had been this way when Meggan was born, because I could have helped her to avoid the life she has made for herself up until now. Both of her parents, my sister and her husband, were authoritarians. My sister spanked her, but her husband used to make Meggan strip down naked before her beat her with a belt. At the time, I had no idea he did that, but I reasoned that spanking was necessary. I never hit Meggan, but I did used to manipulate her, shame her and terrorize her in sadistic ways. I would make promises to her in order to get her to do my bidding, but then would back out of my promises. I'd yell at her to make her cry and when she did, I'll run to hug her. It makes me sick to think of the things I did to her. Meggan now suffers from a whole range of issues. She's addicted to pain-killers, is on anti-depressants, has never held a job for more than a year or so, and has been trouble with the law many times. She is half-black, so my sister and her grandparents often accuse the police of being racist and unfairly targeting Meggan. But, she has been involved with selling prescription drugs for some time now and she was recently sent to prison. Many times before she left, I had apologized to her for how I had treated her. She's accepted my apology and I don't think she's even aware of how much my actions have had in a hand in her current predicament. She's going to be in prison for 3 years, and I've been sending her letters regularly, but I would like to do more, particularly when she gets out. I don't have enough money to pay for her therapy. She was on Medicaid and had been seeing a therapist, but that particular therapist's idea of therapy was pretty much just giving Meggan anti-depressants. She'd see Meggan for about 15 minutes out an hour long session, give her her script and send her on her way. I don't see medication as a means to help her at all! In fact, since she's been in prison and hasn't been allowed to take her meds, she says she feels much better and her mind is much clearer. Anyway, I want to do something to help her instead of just constantly apologizing. I'd like to maybe send her some books, give her some good advice without sounding preachy. I'd like to help her when she gets out. I can't afford therapy for her, but I can give her my time. Are there any things that you guys recommend? Any books you recommend I send to her? I have to use Amazon to send stuff, but the way. I tried to order one of Stefan's books for her, but realized it was only available in digital copies. Any advice would help. Thanks guys.

I thought I'd share some thoughts I have had these last days. Perhaps there are others out there that feel, may feel, or have felt the way I am feeling now. Just want to let you know, if that person is you: There is hope. And I think you know it, deep down. Last thursday, I went out to jog in the spring sun for a while. After about 15 minutes into my run, I sort of had a series of revelations hitting me. I realized that most of the things I am doing in my life at the moment, are not things I want to be doing. Instead of doing things I want to do, or not do anything at all. I felt like I wanted a total do-over with my life (the parts I had power over, not my childhood). Like, fake my death, have a fresh start. Not know the people in my life, so I could get away from all the responsabilities I have, without having angry glances shot at me, without people talking behind my back as the guy who dropped it all and made it uncomfortable for others. Now that I just wrote that, I got this thought that maybe I am mistaking my now adult relationships with my childhood ones. That perhaps, I won't be attacked for quitting the things I don't want to do. Even if I get attacked, so what?, is another thought. Most of the people I know that theoretically would attack me are not people I like that much anyway. I find our interactions dull, lifeless, shallow. What I have gotten from the relationships I have today at college is 98% of what I thought I wanted when I was a child, when I was a prisoner in school: Recognition for ability, respect because of my position, social status. Things that I now think I realize aren't virtous, aren't important. That what I am doing is what most other people do around me: Hide from the past, or adhere to it, revere it. I only got one shot. One life. One pinball. And I have to make what's best of it, not wasting time with dead people, doing things I don't want to do. Yesterday, I felt really terrible during the evening. I thought ''What is a life without conflicts? What does that feel like? I don't think I can imagine what that is like. I feel scared. I don't know what to do with my life. The world is a dark place. Everything feels empty, like a black void. Is there a meaning to anything?'' And then I thought: Maybe this is my soul, tugging at it's chains. Struggling to break free, fighting tooth and nail against the mindlessness, the black hole the people around me worship? Maybe I am seeing more clearly now, that I am again, seeing the world for the dark place it can be. Or perhaps it's me self-attacking in some way, because I am going to give up the things I don't like doing, and that my inner-critic sees this as laziness? I am not sure. Maybe that's what I have been doing, mimicing my father by taking on several projects at once, saying that we love being busy, while I know that both him and I are trembling beneath the stress, hating it because the people around us do so little in comparison, which I have seen make my father turn bitter. And lately, I have felt bitterness for that same reason too. And all of this gets us what? Recieve the shallow gratitude of others, for being ''the guy that works really hard!'' or ''that man that get's things done!''. ''You work so hard! That's really impressive of you!'' And if that's the case, is my father also trying to hide from attacks from his inner-critic, for not doing things? For the fear of being called lazy? I still feel this emptiness inside. That all the things that I used to enjoy, or thought I enjoyed, were nothing but escapes from my past pain. That the only thing they did was to please my inner-critic, to do what I was supposed to do: Become my father. Be that hardworking, no resting kind of guy! Take on the burdens of others, because dammit, someone has got to sacrifice themselves on that altar, and that someone must be me! It is my purpose! It's what I deserve! I may not rest! And really savor the bitterness that follows, because other people arn't up to pair, and life isn't supposed to be fun! It's about sacrifice. At least, that's my hypothesis, as to why I feel the way I feel. But, underneath this emptiness, I can feel a sliver of hope. That lantern of self-knowledge I lit more than a year ago isn't dead. I take all these feelings and thoughts as evidence that I am on the path to something big regarding myself. That my feelings are trying to tell me something, that they are trying to steer me somewhere. So, all I can do now, is really try and listen to myself, and dig even deeper than before. To strike that vein of self-knowledge gold.To break out of the patterns of childhood. I can actually see bars infront of my inner eye of sorts. It's hard to explain. But, I am standing behind bars, finally, really, with my whole being, realizing that I am behind bars. Rays of sunlight find their way through the gaps in my prison cell, dazzling me. And I know I want out. I just don't know how. At least I know I am in a prison now.