Ever since I could remember, I loved writing. I was so proud of my first short story, "Planet X." It was about people in another world that were made of sugar. Talk about a sweet, innocent girl! Though I felt so utterly alone, even at the age of five. Actually, I always felt like I was from another world. That everyone else was so strange and foreign. I kept to myself in quiet reserve. I'm watching, trying to understand almost everything and everyone. The one thought I hadn't realized was why I was so different. It would take me almost 50 years to figure out. Who am I? I am not famous or a prominent person of education or service. I dislike politics, yet I always wanted to change the world. I thought I could solve all our worlds problems, if only someone had listened. All my ideas, to me, seemed like common sense. My brain never shut off.. I would lay in bed at night and couldn't for the life of me understand all the why's. War? Why?Why didn't my mother love me? I lost my father to a terrible blizzard when I was only a few months old. My mother, she lost the love of her life. In my opinion, she never recovered from that. Though, she did move on relationship wise. When I was about two, under the care of my step father. A terrible accident happened, so I have been told. My hands were burnt by some sort of acid. I was too young for pain relief of any type. Afterward, I had many surgeries separating my fingers and skin graphs. Trauma started before my first memories, which was only the beginning. Alcoholism was ever present. Vilolance was another bed fellow. Then sexual abuse was from age 9 until I was 15. My mother, she protected the man, comforting him instead of me. The only thing said was he blacked out and had no recollection. I had no one to go to. All of these things and more left me to feel things no child should. Family life with other relatives was scarce as well. Except that I had my brother, who was four years younger than I. I grew up in the 80s, when kids watched themselves. I was babysitting at age 9. Having the responsibility of getting myself and my brother ready for school. I was one messed up kid. I didn't know what maternal love was, love period. Which, in combination with constant resentment and belittling by my mother... my brother was the one who was supported. She loved her perfect son. Thus is my story of wanting to be loved and protected. I never realize I only need to love myself.