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Okay everyone who thought they knew who I am. Well, I'm the type of person who's mother hates. I know what you're all thinking now. Oh boo hoo, that's almost everyone's issue. Well, then that's what you think. By the age of 6, my mother has told me I was a mistake. That I wasn't ment to be. At seven, I had an asthma attack in my sleep. I woke up to see my mother just watching me. At the age of 8, I broke my knee, bone going through my skin. I went to the hospital with some random lady. She aided me more than my mother ever has. At ten, She has locked me in my room for several days. At 13, she kicked me out of my house, forcing me to live with my god-mother. To her, I was just taking up space in her house. So she let my brother, his girlfriends and their 2 kids to take my room, bed, and what not. Now, at 15, recently my mother has thrown a knife at me. Missing by at least an inch, hitting the wall. Thus, bending the knife. Coupld of days later, I grew ill. Thus, making me vulnerable. With me at my weakest, I woke up with my mothers hands around my neck. The internal part of me says, "Everythin's fine." The external says, "I need help." The only person that can see that, is my love. She is one of the only, very few, poeple that are tying to help me.