It's never too late...
I was born (exactly 41 years ago today). A cold and distant child. My mother and I never bond. My father ends up in a psychiatric hospital and kills himself a year after his release. My mother gets abused by her various boyfriends as I grow up and takes it out on me (mentally and physically).
As I grow up, I develop contempt for my mother and humanity in general. I view her and others as weak, pathetic and worthless. I see the dark side of humanity many times as I grow and develop, and it fuels my contempt even more. My mind is filled with violent thoughts that grow stronger with age.
As a teenager I'm rebellious. I want to kill my family, but I don't. My mother kicks me out at 17. I leave home and move somewhere else. I get into a fight with my flatmate and her friends. I have nowhere else to go, so I live with my boyfriend's mother for awhile, who doesn't seem to like me much. I end up moving back home with my mother and her abusive boyfriend again, argue with my mother a lot, then move out again, get into more fights and move back home again, argue and move out again. This process repeats itself for about 15 years.
In the meantime, I break up with my boyfriend and get new boyfriends, but each relationship is short-lived. One fathers my daughter and tries to kill me 10 months after her birth. I fight back and survive. My mother blames me for the attack before discovering that it wasn't my fault at all.
I end up getting several new boyfriends, use them and lose them. My mother insists my daughter should be removed from my care because she fears the child's well being. My daughter remains in my care and I abuse her through neglect (I don't feel any love for her and I hate spending time with her). The child grows up and resents how I treated her when she was younger, but tells me she loves me anyway.
There is a whole bunch of other stuff I could tell you about my life, such as how I lived in three different states, went to many different schools, abused and killed my own pets, all the different ways I've broken the law, looked down the barrel of a gun several times and became obsessed with murder, but it's far too much to add here.
So, with that said, my story ends.
There are three stories. One that involves one of my mother's abusive boyfriends when I was a kid, who decided to point his gun at us. Another that involves someone who got hustled and wanted his money back. And the last one involves me pissing someone off during an argument over guns.