The lost one speaks...

At five, my role had been clearly defined. I was the one to make sure not to create any new issues for our, clearly , dysFUNKtional family. By this stage, many anxieties had taken over me. Being the fifth out of six children meant not much attention was paid to my developmental needs. Me and my eldest sister were ten years apart. As her interest in boys grew, my interest in eating mud pies began. There were no similarities, not much of relationship, and not much of anything between the others and I. My mother had it difficult. She had to raise us, feed us, and clothe us. Not having much interaction with my parents, hindered my social skills. How can anyone, not being able to feel comfortable at home feel comforted elsewhere?

Typical morning right before school....

As I calmly sat on my rocking chair waiting for the school bus to arrive, I'd rock myself back and forth trying to enjoy the beautiful day. As the bus rounded the corner, I'd get up and violently regurgitate the small portion of bean and egg tacos my mother had fed me for breakfast. As I cleaned myself off, making sure to wipe off any vomit on my cheeks and dress, my mother would offer to drive me to school. I denied her offer every time and set off to ride the bus in hope that social anxiety wouldn't paralyze me in fear later in the day.