Chapter 6: "The ANTagonizer"
The light in me dimmed early.
As a youngster, I was already an outlaw in the making, fueled not by crime, but by something deeper, more desperate: craving. Craving love, craving presence, craving something that didn’t vanish without explanation. It was a hunger that gnawed at my insides, and nothing could save it.
Betrayal had baptized me. The kind that cut deeper than any physical wound, the kind that lingered long after the bruise faded. Hope? That was a fairytale I no longer entertained. Hope was for the lucky, for the ones who hadn’t learned the truth too early. I wore vengeance like a crown, defiance like armor. I walked through the world with a chip on my shoulder, and every step I took was a march deeper into rebellion.
There was no mastermind plan—no grand vision of the future. It was pure emotion, raw and untamed. A boy with wounds no one saw, acting out because sitting still meant feeling everything. And feeling was too much. The silence around me was too loud. So, I made noise.
My weapon? Chaos.
My first hits weren’t bullets. They were moments. Small, petty acts of defiance. Testing adults. Challenging boundaries. Disregarding rules just because I could. I’d drop food on the floor just to watch the panic on people’s faces. I’d eat the last slice of pizza, even though I knew it wasn’t mine, just to see who cared enough to stop me. I needed to feel something—anything—even if it was punishment. At least it was real.
Night became my sanctuary. When the sun dipped below the horizon and the streets were empty, the chaos followed. Trespassing became a ritual. I'd sneak into places I wasn’t allowed, breaking into abandoned houses or other people’s backyards. Shadows didn’t judge me there. No one could see my brokenness. In the dark, I could breathe.
Punishment came like clockwork. The belt, the scolding, the silent disappointment that followed every misstep. But I didn’t flinch. I didn’t cry. The pain wasn’t the enemy; it was proof I hadn’t disappeared into thin air. It was confirmation that I still existed. Twisted, yeah… but at least I could feel something.
By then, “Lil Ant” had died. That was the name my father’s family gave me—a soft name, small, innocent. But I had outgrown softness long ago. No longer was I the boy who cried in the corner. From the ashes of that child, a new identity emerged. One that didn’t need saving, didn’t care for comfort. One that wasn’t afraid to burn bridges and watch them turn to ash.
The Antagonizer.
I didn’t just cause trouble. I was trouble.
I became the kind of force that made people stop and stare. The one who made every room crackle with tension. It wasn’t just about rebellion—it was about control. If I couldn’t control my life, I would control the world around me. I became unpredictable, a storm that swept through everything and left only chaos in its wake.
I didn’t need anyone to understand me. In fact, I preferred it that way. I wanted to be the shadow in the corner of the room, the one who made everyone uneasy but couldn’t be touched. And with each act of rebellion, I felt myself grow stronger, colder. Detached.
But what no one knew—what I didn’t even fully realize yet—was that every hit, every outburst, every tantrum was just another way to hide. Behind the anger, behind the chaos, there was a boy still aching to be loved, still desperate for the connection I never had. But instead of reaching out, I lashed out. Instead of asking for help, I pushed everyone away.
I wasn’t sure if I was even capable of redemption anymore. But I knew one thing: I was alive. I was burning brighter than anyone else around me. And that fire? It would never be extinguished.
It was my fuel. My rage. My salvation.
And now, the world would know it.
I wasn’t just the boy they’d forgotten. I was the Antagonizer. And this was just the beginning.
