Honestly, life for me in during seventeen years has gone very slow. Some say maybe it’s because I’m not to active or I want to grow up to fast. Truth is, I’m so scared of getting old. I’m afraid of wrinkles and saggy bodies. I’m afraid of failure and anything that hurts.

                     From the time that I was born until now every part of my life has been a struggle. From getting up in the morning, finding food to eat during the day, to trying to fall asleep with so much worry on my chest. I don’t remember being born, but I do remember the way my mother looked and smelled. I can see her red Burnett wavy hair. And her magnificent green eyes and all her freckles. She was so skinny and pretty. I always wondered why my mom always looked so much younger than other kids moms. My mom had me at nineteen. I Know that’s not bad, but she wasn’t ready.

                       As a child I did not have the food I needed nor the love. I didn’t see anything wrong with it. She was my mom. That’s all I knew. After my sister was born and we both were in elementry school things got worse. I was in third grade and she was in preschool. At home we didn’t have a lot of food. There was a church that donated food to us. They would drive by and leave it on our front porch. The box was so heavy I couldn’t pick it up. So I would grab it and drag it to the kitchen. I knew how to work a can opener and the microwave. Lets just say me and May lived off of caned peas and cream corn. At the time my mother was so strung out on Oxy Cotton. She had did it so much she developed a whole in her arm and had to have a home nurse come to our house every morning to assist her. My mother wasn’t being our mother… I was.