My name is Basta. That's it. Just Basta. No last name. No middle name. B-A-S-T-A. Got it? That's good. I wasn't always called Basta. As a matter of fact, my original name was quite different. I can't exactly remember it, but I think it started with a D. I think. Anyways, I don't exactly have it easy. I mean, my job is simple enough. Strike a match here, slit a throat there… but I mean emotionally. What kind of girl would want to lay with a guy who slits throats? Who would want to lie with a guy who is poor, slits throats and has no romantical know how? That's right. Nobody. So here I am, 23 years old, and unloved. Unwanted. Uncared for. So life's up to me. You're probably thinking: if life is SO bad, why don't you change it. Well, that's a great question. But, I don't know the answer. Seriously. But I do ponder it. Nightly, actually. I lay awake, looking up at the ceiling of my bedroom. (I don't sleep much. As a matter of fact, I always look like a raccoon because me eyes are surrounded with dark purple rings). Ok, so we're getting no where. You're probably weirded out that you're associated with a guy who slits throats for a living. But, to be honest, I'm not that bad.
Ok, ok, so I am. But whoever said that I enjoyed killing people? No one. AHA! Alright, please, I don't mean to bore you! Give me a chance, and I will tell you what I am like. Mentally and physically. Ok, so here I am below:
I heard that I looked like Tim Roth. I also heard that I looked like Viggo Mortensen. I also, also heard that I look like a cross between Tim Roth AND Viggo Mortensen. (I don't know who those people are but they must be fine looking!) My eyes are blue-green. I look like I wear eye liner, but I don't. I promise that I don't wear makeup. I swear it. I am thin. Ok, well, let's say slender…or does that sound too girly? Slim. There. Slim. I have a narrow chest and shoulders, but I'm strong. Not Arnold Schwarzenegger strong (who is?) but I can lift stuff and hold down a struggling man. My hair is dark brown. The color of coffee. It is not very long, but it's not crew cut short. It's about 2 inches long, and sticks up all over the place. (I've tried to slick it before, but it didn't work. Ladies, is sticky-uppy hair attractive?) My skin is naturally fair, but tanned from the sun. I prefer tanned skin. On myself…
About my clothes, I wear the same thing all the time. I have a pair of black skinny jeans (my favorite) and black slacks (my least favorite). I wear white button up shirts (they MUST be long sleeved!). I have black boots for foot wear. I don't like them very much. I also wear a black jacket. I don't like that thing either. I ditch it every chance I get. I also wear a red flower in the first button hole in my shirt. When I wear clothes I look close to normal, but underneath I am embarrassed to say, I look far from normal. I have bun scars running up my arms (that's why my sleeves must ALWAYS be kept down) and I have scars in my belly from when I was shot. (Yes, I have been shot before. Although, I am physically fit and I have great abs. Now, on the topic of physical appearance, I'd like to mention that my voice really isn't that "raspy" (I just had a sore throat the day I went to Silvertongue's house).
Mentally, I'm really strange. Like, messed up. I don't know if I have the capacity to be normal. I have Bipolar disorder, and obsessive compulsive disorder. I anxiety issues and anger troubles. I don't have medication for my depressions and obsessions (my boss can't pay for them) and it has really taken a toll on me. I've tried to commit suicide many times. But coffee makes it all better. Bipolar disorder means I have severe mood swings and dips. I cannot control how I feel, and spontaneous crying, depression, fits of joy/laughing are symptoms I suffer from. Obsessive compulsive disorder…everything MUST be clean! If the counter is not sparkling then I won't be able to sleep or think about anything else. If my knife is not spotless, I go crazy. If my white shirt is not clean then than I can't concentrate. If I don't smell good, then I cannot focus on anything else. It really gets to be a pain. My anxiety issues come from being beaten, shot and shunned. My anger bouts take up 98 of my time. Just the littlest thing sets me off in a tantrum. Only people get killed in my tantrums. Despite my violent nature, I think and dream about the things most men do. But most of all, I long for a girlfriend. I've never had one before, and I'd just love to fall in love. I don't know what it's like to hold a woman close and feel her heart beat against my own…the mere thought of that makes me excited. But um, enough of that.
So you're probably wondering what the hell this is, right? Well, I'm not going to say it's a diary, because that sounds girly. It's more like a recalling of my past…not a life story though, because I don't have the patience to write all that.
Oh yeah, I can write by the way. My Nazi boss promptly forbid us of learning to read and write, so being a natural rebel, I took matters into my own hands and learned myself. (And my boss really wasn't a Nazi either…)
So yeah, that's all I really have to say so far, but I'll fill you in later on (When it's convenient for me).
-Basta