When I was three years old. My manic-depressive mother lost her will and the family fell apart. I did still hope someone would save me, (for years and years), and as I did that, I first and foremost took of others, then myself. I raised my own child to be independant, strong, and to take care of herself first, then others. I’m not bitter, yet sad sometimes. I didn’t have a comfortable childhood playing games and relaxing in innocence. I suffered a lot of injustice with no knowledge to bide me through it. I let many people around me off the hook, giving them the benefit of the doubt when actually it was inappropriate, and completely unfair. We are born alone, we die alone. That’s a fact. I feel grateful I accept it and will peacefully say good-bye when I have no other choice.