Okay, so I guess I've been on this site long enough to reveal a little bit about my history. Before I continue though, let me make a few things perfectly clear. First off, I'm not forcing anyone to read this, so I'd appreciate it if no one complains about this being too depressing. I honestly don't care about how depressing it is, and I'm not going to delete it unless I'm told to do so by an admin. Second, if you think I'm posting this to get attention, you're sorely mistaken. I honestly don't care whether or not anyone feels sorry for me.

Now, a little glimpse into my past.

I was born in the more southern parts of the U.S. Alabama, to be exact. With an alcoholic mother who was too busy to take care of me, and a father who never stuck around to see my 2nd birthday. Sometimes I wonder if the old fool even thinks of me, but then again I don't really care. He's pretty much dead to me. My childhood consisted of moving from one place to another, never staying in one place for too long. Every year or two, my mother would find a new man to fall head over heals in love with, before he ran us out of the house. Every childhood friend that I made never stuck around. Either they moved away, or I did. It makes me feel jealous of people who have friends they've known since they were little. Sometimes, I wonder if my old friends even think of me. If they're still mad at me over the toy cars we fought over back in kindergarden.

Eventually, my mother settled down with another man, and the first thing I thought: "Oh, great. Nothing good ever comes of this." Just as I predicted, not a week has passed before they started fighting. Except this time, my mother never thought of moving away. Even when he would get abusive when she wasn't around. When my mother finally found out he was beating on me, we ended up leaving. I thought that was the end of it. Nope! She just ran back to him without a second thought of what would happen. Just as I expected, he continued being abusive towards me, but this time not even bothering to hide it from my mother. She, of course, stopped caring soon after. Then soon enough, she even began instigating it. It wasn't really long after that before I decided that my mother never had any intentions to protect me. At thirteen years old, I was on my own. This caused a few mental problems, of course. The usual depression, anger issues, teenage angst, and suicidal thoughts and actions. At thirteen years old, I was an emotional train wreck.

By the age of fifteen, I decided I've had enough. I stood up for myself for once. I guess that was when my mother figured out that I wasn't going to take it anymore, because we moved out the very next day.

Of course, it didn't end there. We moved into another poor area, and I more or less became addicted to a few drugs, still bullied at school... but I'm not going into any details about that. A few months later, I moved to Iowa with my grandparents, who for once actually looked out for me like parents should. Of course, my future was still uncertain, so I was sent to a vocational college where I live to this day, and plan on graduating from very soon. I'm also using it to develop my newfound talents for writing, singing, and guitar.

There you have it. My history has been a crazy ride, but now I'm only focused on my future. Again, I'm not posting this for attention. I've seen many people (Including a few on this site) claim that they're sick of life. Trust me, I've tried committing suicide twice at a very young age, I don't think there are many people out there who are as sick of life as I am. But I don't complain about. I gave up feeling sorry for myself years ago. I have a future to worry about.