When I was two, my biological father left me. He left bruises on my mom. Broke her ribs. Anything. So I'd say I was happy we left. But I don't rememeber so who knows. Maybe I loved him. When I was three, my mom met Amy, who would play a HUGE part in my life. Because from that point on, Amy raised me. My mom started doing drugs heavily. I had to take care of myself. When I was seven, I started school in Monteagle. There, I found friends after a while. And I stayed for two years: kindergarten and first. Then we moved from where we were to Amy's uncle's house with Amy. I had to move to Tracy. When we got there, I had a friend already, Amy's son, Zack, but he wanted nothing to do with me, so he ignored me. Probably because I was fat. And ugly. And lonely. But whatever. Some kids dared this other new kid that had been there longer than me, to come play with me. So he did, and we're still friends to this day. I stayed in Tracy until fourth grade. During all that time, a lot happened. One summer, we moved to a house on the outskirts of Coalmont. At that time, I was in third grade. By then, everyone at my school, except students, just staff, knew well what was going on. I was seeing the school counselor. I was focused on school, but I still knew what was going on with my mom and Amy.
