I was born in California, and raised in Missouri, where my mother had married my dad and he adopted me. This was a fine time in my life, as a kid playing outside in the dirt, with my dog. Everything was good in the world. Or so I'd thought.

When Dad wasn't home... It got bad. My mother always found something wrong with my behavior, she'd put me in the corner and place her hand over my nose and mouth till I stopped crying. This was scary for me, what if I passes out? What if I DIED?! She'd hang me on the wall by my shirt, and frequently hit me. But all was fine when Dad was home. I was Daddy's lil One!

Dad always bought me a milk and a granola bar when he went to drop me off with my grandparents in the morning before school. I didn't quite like my grandparents. They always yelled at me when I couldn't finish my food. I had a fast metabolism but I was small! Thinking back, I only got breakfast and dinner when Dad was home, never any lunch. Of course I should have been hungry... They were worried about me. Dad bought me a snack, and they wanted me to finish my food, because they all thought my mother was starving me... Which, she was.

She beat me once for telling a babysitter that once. She made me go over and tell her that I was lying for attention. That babysitter never gave me snacks again, and I'd be hungry till school started and they gave out breakfast.

Unfortunately, now I have a bit of an issue with food insecurity behavior. I don't remember to eat till I'm REALLY hungry, and usually only a small meal twice a day, like a sandwich. I know it's unhealthy, but it's a vice I'm working through, made worse by mild anorexia.