I was born Jonathon Aaron Steel, to the parents of William and Elizabeth
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steel. I am a Leo, born under the sign of the lion and I was raised in a
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lower middle class family with only one brother Michael whom I love
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dearly. He was five years my senior. My father's nickname was Red which I
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could never understand why because his hair was sandy blond. Nevertheless,
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the name stuck. So when my brother was born my father became Big Red and
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my brother Little Red. I should have known from the first time when I
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realised their special connection, that I just didn't fit in to my
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father's plans. And as I grew older the constant comparison between my
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brother and myself left little doubt who was the image of perfection in my
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father's eye. To him, my brother could do no wrong and I became The
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Invisible Boy, the proverbial 'black sheep' and I soon figured out that
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red and black don't mix. The beatings I received became more and more
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frequent to the point where I would ask my father "Am I the orphaned son
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you would never need"? But oddly enough I worshipped the ground my father
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walked upon.
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My brother and I were a strange mixture, as different as daylight and
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dark. Looking back, it's hard to imagine we came from the same parents. I
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sometimes wondered if we had the same father, but I always dismissed that
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idea as my mother was far too religious, my father as well, to ever even
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think of such a thing. But my brother who had always sensed my parent's
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instilled insecurities tried his best to encourage me. For I was born
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different and he knew it. He often told me when I was born an angel flew
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over my bed and christened me with a magic wand and said "You shall be the
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one". And I had no idea what 'The one' was, but as I grew older I began to
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understand. Most boys put their mother on a pedestal and worship them like
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the Virgin Mary but with her too my relationship was different and not for
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the good. She was opinionated, uneducated, sometimes prejudiced,
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overbearing, believed everything she read, true or not, and when it came
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to religion was over-zealous to say the least. A mind boggling combination
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but she was pretty, very pretty and I would often wonder, bordering on
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complete confusion, how a person of this description could rationalise life.
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This was a series of characteristics that many times in my life I would
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look back on in bewilderment and the women I sought after when I was older
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would be nothing like her. In the pain of youth, the misery of my neglect,
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would manifest itself in many ways; depression - my enemy, fear - my
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friend, hatred - my lover, and anger - fuel for my fire. These four
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characteristics of my personality would become the guiding force of my
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life and would control everything I did or was to become. I shall explain
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later in the story about them which I call my Four Doors of Doom.
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The mirror, the great plaything for man's vanity. The mirror was to
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become, at times, my altar of refuge and other, my alter ego and its
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magnificent obsession with a relentless pursuit of attention. It served as
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a chilling reflection of my own wretchedness and my greatness. It was the
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one place I could go to see inside myself, to find love, in an otherwise
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loveless household where I could be great, where I could be anything or
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anyone I wanted to be - one hundred percent pure escapism until I
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discovered its precious secret. The mirror lives, it breathes, it talks,
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it lies, it has a personality all its own. It is a genie that grants all
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the wishes you could ever dream, at least in my case - all except two.
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It was my 14th birthday, the day that changed my life forever. My brother
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Michael, the one person who was my guiding light, my friend, my hero, was
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killed by a drunk driver in a head-on collision. He died instantly. I
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couldn't even bring myself to go to his funeral. My agony was so great I
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just couldn't come face to face with him that one last time. My failure to
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attend intensified my parents' resentment for me even more. But from that
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| moment on, nothing seemed to mat |
