I think this is a unique story that can tell other people out there that when life gets rough, it can always get better.
When most people think of their childhood years, they think of bikes, swimming lessons, kindergarten and the simplicity of life. When I think of my childhood, all of those aspects come to mind with an addition to one other: the climax of my mother’s problems that culminated in my disappearance to Portland, Oregon for three months, when I was eight. Not by a stranger, nor was I was subjected to any physical trauma. I was taken by my own mother, at a time when I had thought life may have finally been getting brighter. Little did I know that the light had not been a light of hope, but the light of the growing explosive fire that I’d been born into.