I grew up with a learning disability, in addition to the trauma from the emotional and physical abuse carried out by my own mother and family members. The hands that were supposed to protect me as a child were the same hands responsible for my suffering, hurt and pain. I had such anger and hate toward my mother for everything she did to me. My life was complex from day one. My pain fuelled my rage, and my rage came out in fights. If I wasn't in a fight, I was starting one. Programs and counselling never helped me because I wasn't ready to heal. I did what I wanted to do, when I wanted to do it. Being exposed to the justice system at a young age, I saw the police in my home way too often. How could a mother do something like this to her own child and not care? My father was a case by himself. Where was he anyway? A caged bird is how I used to describe myself but ironically, at other times, I felt like a superhero for my brothers and sisters. Maybe it was all the chores I had to do that made me feel invincible. But still, I was a confused child, and feelings of doubt and neglect often plagued my mind. That said, if there was one thing I knew for certain, it was the fact that I would never be like my mother. I may have been a product of my mother, but who she was didn't make me who I am today. And it never could.