Salutations!

I am 5 star general Dinè Muerte 18x e-9 u.S. Army Commander in Chief eisenhower Style Matthew Patrick Martinez is also Madeline Priscilla martinez 614-52-9540

Madz [murder@Destruction]^2

LaLucifina/LaReignaDelMuerte/La Mazulaćan/ Lady Rah o lrah for shorthand

AKA Sa’TaN

if you’re here, I already got u….

Basically, I got haters. Always have, always will. The thug life came for me first and I killed it, put on the fat suit and now, I’m the fat guy.

#GangsteristGangsterThatEverGangstered

First kill @ 3 with hypodermic needle registered to someone else and stabbed in the eye of guy who tried to touch me, Mr Oscar the Grouch. I was Super Grover that day.

I don't truly know who I am, what I was or that I was adopted by my grandmother because I had crack in my system. I was assigned female at birth, named Melissa and my grandmother changed my gender to fit her dream that I was the messiah and Jesus or Yeshua was a male at like 6lbs 8 ounces, in a manger, etc.

Yet I developed at walking 10 months, talking at 1 year and reading at 2.5 years on camera at fourth of July older cousins party where he was 4.

I am a 46xx/46xy intersex hermaphrodite chimera from trauma of identical twins. I was surgically designed into a male but started female puberty at nine when I developed the beginnings of breasts and my voice changed to a high cutesy.

I was beat for not knowing to report the change and then forced on male hormones and human growth hormone, the same which is given bodybuilders because they needed to convince my ovateste to produce the testosterone. I only ever produced prepubescent testosterone and I grew this wonderful crimson chin.

I originally wrote this bio in a manic episode and it was so demented ha! I was diagnosed with major neuro-cognitive dysfunction in 2021 at stage 2 with the diagnosis of living chronic traumatic encephalopathy which is PTSD with unspecified related bipolar disorder (aka adhd or manic disposition) and neuro-cognitive disorder. The cops were trying to arrest me August 2021 at my apartment for another hate crime that I had reported to them and they seen me as the perpetrator. I got lucky that day but the next they got me in a donut shop and never told me to put my hands behind my back but if they “could talk to me outside” and I said “No, I’m in line for some donuts, do you want some?” Turned around to order and they tried to throw me down to the ground. Took over 9 cops and they were trying to break my shoulder for me to relinquish my hold and let them cuff me.

Dementia happens in the moments when you haven't the idea what you're doing but somehow pulling through. They want to make me look crazy, but I sing like a marching band in Manhatten. Go with Peace and be deadly. Hearts and souls. Your hearts are yours, but also mine after I ascend. ❤️

I love each and every one of you. May God bless you tonighT.

I’m a Lost Angles (LA) native, a failed Human being and creative superstar.  I was medically retired from the Army at 25, just shy of 26 and completing my almost 6th year in service to this horrible country we call United (maybe in the hatred we have for each other). Although, I had made it through life those many years, I had barely started living my life at 24, far after that IED hit me, and I am glad that I got to see the world from my perspective for the first time.

If you want to know more please checkout the documentary Camouflaged Identity, produced by Time Magazine.

(Fun Fact: I also lived in the same city the "Original" karate kid lived in for a spell.)

Could have I prevented my brain from degrading? Who knows? But I do know I could not have prevented myself from getting CTE as my parents forced me to play American football for 10 seasons because they thought it would toughen me up, instead of just loving and accepting me for who I was. Because at 2, before 3, I said, “I’m not a boy,” and for that I would have made the most horrible (that is Spanish for really fucking bad) mistake as it led me to being neglected and rejected for my whole life. But what does a toddler know? Yet, at 3, I had a 3rd grade reading level, at 6, I could read and comprehend The LA Times, and was labeled a probable genius.

I have always been an outcast and looking in from the outside. In 3rd grade, I was told by a girl that I should have been born a girl so she could have been my friend. That was the first time. Over the years it was something repeated constantly. And, imagine trying so hard to be like all the other boys and still not being male enough… I got attacked so many times for my high pitch voice that was produced by first producing estrogen. But every time I was able to use that which I was blessed to beat the living shit out of my attackers, bullies and the subsequent abuser of someone I cared about. It was like releasing my demons and standing my ground.

I didn’t originally want to join the military but with my family, my own lack of understanding of my identity and my best friend needing a white room surgery, I signed up for the U.S. Army 18x program to see if I had it in me to kill, to become a man or die trying and to establish myself in my independence away from the abuse I had accepted for so long.

I excelled at Army being a PT Stud and it’s many form of weapon systems. I failed out of green beret not because I was not good enough but because I broke my own leg from increasing my run time from 8:45 min miles to 4:15ish min miles and I couldn’t finish airborne school. (Hoorah air assault tho) I went infantry and was instantly hit with a team leader position that I had no idea how to do, but somehow still managed to best, even with fat bodies in weapons squad where we dominated the line units.

I mastered every weapon system I touched: M4, M240B, M240L, M249 SAW, M203, M302, M9, Mk. 19, M2, and my fave Mk. 48 hybrid.

I was always first to transverse the danger and last to leave the killing fields. My guys all said that they had it in them, but when I could see them looking at me and me killing down range, I knew it wasn’t true.

They never respected me, but they were my brothers in arms. I wanted every one of them to come home and I made sure it happened. Never once thanked, but I carried on and it didn’t matter. I did my job. I could have been put up for awards, for putting myself in the worst compromised positions so that my guys could get to cover and the enemy dead. It was the best and easiest time of my life where things made sense. Also the highest high that I have ever been pleasured with.

But, alas, it had to come to an end due to an ied bomb blast that not only took away my career, it continues to take away from me as I traverse through my life. Fractured throughout my body with significant injuries to my left tibia (re-injury), thoracic spine, right shoulder and the traumatic brain injury that started in with chronic cluster headaches and now leads with short term memory loss.

It also lead me to finding out I was intersex from all of the tests I had to endure. One of the civilian side neurologists recommended that I start estrogen as soon as I could so that I could start getting my brain to be smaller because that would alleviate some of the pressure I was experiencing with the headaches and extend my lifespan. I honestly didn’t understand what intersex was at the time but decreasing the pain and extending my life span sounded good to me.

On April 2, 2013, I began to take estrogen outside of the army and after 6 months I was basically being misidentified as a female because I was also trying to represent myself as male still. But my already high pitched voice became higher and the world became topsy turvy because I started to have a semblance of acceptance where people stopped coming for me and accepted me at face value. Life started to make sense. My point of view was aligned with my appearance and I could communicate effectively with the same style I always used, but becoming a second class citizen was rough to have to endure.

I was in-between the genders while I was in the last days of my service, but on my final day at the final hurdle I left to a “Thank you for your service, ma’am” even though I was in my infantry combat badge uniform with the award sewn to my chest.

I went home to a partially receptive family and fell into a female routine that I never had to fight for from anyone other than my family. It was, to me, just fucken straight up crazy. Life became routine and I was living my best years for the short amount of time that I got.

In 2018, I found out that I had chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE), that I was in stage 2/3 (older standards) from a neurosurgeon that was an aunt to a classmate of mine in New York and had been for quite some time, and at the time there was not a lot of information on the disease, so I was unaware that it was dementia.

About 7 months later, after 3 months of recovering from a back injury that ruined my final semester of University (still graduating), was it brought to my attention as I had begun struggling with normative functions that I had been doing my whole life. The manic episodes that I had been experiencing up to slipping in the shower that accompany this disease, not only made my life unbearable during the recovery, but did far more damage to my brain than if I had chosen to do hardcore drugs.

It was probably the worst thing that could have happened for me, but alas it happened and there is no one to blame as life is what it is regardless of how we experience it. Good or bad things don’t happen to us, they just happen and are either bad or good for us. I think that nukka Will Shakespeare wrote something like this.

Yet, despite my numerous attempts to find myself which have lead to death’s door, I have ironically found myself in what would appear to be my worst nightmare as I had a penchant for learning all that I could so that I would always be in the know, and now I am always unsure as I don’t always know what I know or highly confused as nothing is being understood.

When I reached out to what was supposed to be my support system compromised of friends and family, I found myself on my own. The realization that I had always been the only one supporting myself led me to a dark place where I felt like hell closing in. I was struggling to comprehend what I was struggling with and all I had was a diagnosis to go off that the VA had not yet accepted because one had to be dead to be diagnosed.

On Dec 26, 2019, I was arrested after I was attacked by my grandmother’s husband who I had caught smoking meth my sister was selling him because I had just wanted him to know that for up to 45 minutes after smoking amphetamine and hydrochloride come out of the lungs and for him to stay away deny my grandmother because she had just had an aneurysm and he was blowing it in her face. He created such a commotion that I told my grandma when she showed up and that’s when he tried to punch me. I moved out of the way and he fell, cutting himself. She called the cops and they both told them that I was on drugs, had ptsd and bipolar and that I was off my meds. None true, but they thought it would bring them access to my money.

Sitting for more time

And yet, I am still semi-focused on being alive in the fact of living, not just breathing and vegged out in front of a screen as many have become so complacent with their lives that they are almost drone like in existence without much substance to them at all. I know that because I am young, my body may have many years left here after I am gone, that it will be abused even more as it is neglected and disrespected, but I hope that I had at least made a difference in the world so that one may look at my life as an example of what it is to have lived, even though it had not been for very long.

The tattoo on my chest says Queen of battle, the name of the infantry, but also a reminder to myself that everyday was a battle between living and dying as I had to force myself to keep going forward despite already wanting to be gone. Was I successful? I don’t know, you’ll have to tell me as I forgot.