Back when I was still a little gypsy boy, I didn't have any friends and my mother wouldn't let me leave the house, so I wasn't taught how to behave or interact. My older brother has down syndrome, diabetes AND epilepsy too, and she told me she only gave birth to me so I could take care of him after she'd die. For a short time I had a speech therapist, whom she taught me how to use age-appropriate sentences and also taught me a bit of english. Whenever I'd have a breakdown and my mother would come back home she used to fuck me up pretty bad, and I experienced hair shedding for a while then. I was nearly anorexic at around age 10 or younger and I spent a good part of that time in run-down commie hospitals. We were so poor that I could only shower once a week. Life hadn't gotten much better during my years of puberty, as that's when I began having sexually deviant and violent imagery in my head that wouldn't go away.
