The death of my father when I was growing up meant that I became a nomad, being passed from one person to another because my mother didn’t have the means to look after me.

My pathway to self-destruction had already been created when I was abused by a family member at 14-years-old. I kept the dirty little secret to myself and refused to tell anyone. A few years later when I finally mustered up the courage to do so, it was brushed aside.

As a boy, my father would beat me for no reason. You have no idea how much pain this caused me. I began to hate him and I remember telling him that one day I would kill him. I meant it. One day, when I was much older, he tried to beat me and I…