I stood at the edge looking out at a a view I had come to see a lot. I called this home. I had never had a home. Well at least not a stable one. I ran away as soon as I could, living off of homeless shelter food and begging people for spare change for a bus ride. I never looked my age so I was always asked if I was lost or If i needed help. I always wanted I to say yes because I could have used all the help I could have gotten but I guess I just didn't want to admit I needed it. As for being lost, I never felt lost maybe because being lost was all I've ever known.

I grew up in a house hold where my parents always fought. I never saw them get along. My parents would be so mad they would need to let off some steam and I was always the target. I had ended up putting myself into this mindset that it was always my fault they argued and I deserved to be punished for it. As I became older I started to think maybe it's not but then the other half of me would tell me it was. I was always in a constant battle with myself. This constantly happened, me constantly questioning why I wasn't good enough for them or if I was even good enough for anyone. I ended up digging myself into such a deep hole of feelings and emotions that I couldn't handle, I became lost.

I left at the age of 16, looking for a way out of the pit of hell they'd drug me into. I stayed out on the streets doing nothing for almost two months before I pushed myself to do something or go somewhere. After traveling and living off of other people for almost eight months, I found where I'd call home. For once being lost wasn't such a bad thing. I didn't care where I was, all I knew is this place would be mine. All mine. I'd start a new life and do something great. Show everyone that no matter how far someone drags you under or you even drag yourself under, you can always find a way out.