Every time I do something my very best, you find a way to make me feel bad in some way. You don't know what I go through. But I know what you go through. You come from an abusive home, forced to do everything since your sibling has a club leg. Your father beats you and your mother slaps you, all for no reason. You make others feel bad so you feel good. I get it. A lot of people do that. It's not right though. I was raised with barely any food, bitter water, hardly any electricty, and 5 siblings. My father was killed in the army when I was 4. I never really got to know him. My mom died from cancer when I was 10. My older sister was taking care of us. She was just 14. She had a part time job at the gas station. When I was about 13, we found a couple in their 30's, willing to let us stay with them. All we had to wear was tattered jeans and a tshirt and some ratty shoes. But here I am today, being nice and helpful to others. Maybe you should try to understand that. That was just a short story based on what I felt this afternoon. The feelings are the only true part of this story. The family parts are made up. Thank you for reading!