Childhood. Such a supposed precious time for a child. Witnessing their growth and making memories. Most children should have that. First day of school, first birthday, first vacation, first anything. But some children don't get the precious experience with their parents. Sometimes, some children might not even live with their parents or have anyone at that matter. Or even live with a divorced or widowed parent. These children though, grow stronger. As Ernest Hemingway, a famous short story writer, once said, "The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places." The things children go through may help them throughout their whole life. They might have some painful outcomes, but they have experience. Experience that they can use or even share if they want to. I know that I may be trying to sound like an adult since I'm a 13-year-old, but for my age in my generation, I'm considered an old soul per say. I'm too mature for my age. I can't really change that since, well, I'm one of those children who had a hard childhood. And beginning my teenage years, are already on a scale of 90, in which the scale is from 0 to 800. Don't mind my words of nonsense. I'm weird that way. But anyhow, what I'm trying to say is that childhood practically has three names for it. Great, normal, horrific. The three names of childhood. Now people might think otherwise, but this is what my perspective on childhood is. Obviously, I'm located in the horrific category. Considered I grew up in a broken family. My older sister and brother had a perfectly happy time growing up, but from the minute I was born, the ship of happiness and love already started sinking. My father was verbally abusive to me, my sister, mom, and brother. He was demanding and so manipulative, I think I know where I get my attitude problem from. I've had that problem since I was six. My mother, she deserved so much better than someone like him even I'm aware of that. He made her abort my unborn brother and made her feel so self-conscious about herself. But the outcome inevitable. She was traumatized and I get that since we both suffer from PTSD. But as soon as she got that divorce in place, she slowly started to become the person she'd never want to be with again. She had my physical custody and my father had his legal rights. But as I spent time with her, she became more and more, different. And it wasn't for her own good. She now has severe anxiety and me? Well I have quite a few mental illnesses. More than her let's say. Everyday we butt heads like a wolf, which is me, and a brown bear, my mother, fighting for food. My brother might be going to film school in New York soon and my sister already has a precious toddler and lives with her boyfriend. She has trouble with living situations though. So do we. Me and my mother have been in and out of my stepdad's house for the past 3 years. She got married two months after her divorce. She was secretly dating him while she was still married for a year and got married right away within a month. She can be very impatient, ha-ha! I don't get along with him for personal reasons that have already labeled him a bad guy in my mind. He damages my mother's physical and mental health and even though she doesn't tell me, I just can tell by looking at her. I'm a keen observer. This is how I notice this. I understand that she's tired. Tired of pain and unhappiness and stressful days. But considering our situation, I'm acting like the mother and she, the daughter. I'm glad to help her, but she honestly thinks that I'm irresponsible and rude. I get crabby because me and my siblings have tried to help her, but whenever we say anything about what she needs or if we even mention the fact that we even try to help her, she says we're controlling her life. I know. Why is a 13-year-old worrying about business that is supposed to be for adults? Why does she think she can have her way? Trust me I've heard enough about that from plenty of people. The reason why though, is because it bothers me, to the point where it degrades me, to see my own family so dysfunctional. Go ahead, please, say that I can't change everything that causes problems. I'm not even trying to change anything. I just wish that all of us wouldn't argue. But oh well. At least I'm glad that I have a family. I know I might've gotten off topic a bit, but this is what I wanted to share. I wanted to share a story. A story that may be a bit but not all shocking to hear. But thank you for reading this. If anyone is even reading this. P.S I don't really have any friends on here.