Well, I have depression. It's not too bad, but it's getting worse with each passing day. I don't love my mother, well not anymore at least. When I was young, 6 or 7 I believe, my mom sent me far away. She sent me to my aunt's house for a period of time, but my aunt quickly grew sick of having me around. So my aunt sent me even farther away from my mother, to my step-grandfather's house. He lived in South Dakota. For a small bit of 3rd grade, I went to school there. Surprisingly, there were only about 3 or 4 other kids in my class. The teacher was very nice, I don't remember her name though. I cried almost every day. I didn't understand why my mother abandoned me, I know now that she had first started drinking at the time. My sadness for my mother's abandonment numbed each day, but the crying never stopped. That's when my depression first took root, if my memory serves. I cried at "home," too. I always cried outside so they wouldn't hear me. That's where the kittens roamed. My grandfather owned many kittens, but one in particular caught my eye. He was orange, I believe. And he was quite skittish. But the kitten's fear of me only made my determination grow to make it my friend. It had worked, after a while. I cried outside, and the orange kitten always comforted me, even if he never tried to. I think I named him, and if I remember correctly, I named him Orange. Orange the cat. During my stay my uncle Dillon, who lived with his parents (my step-grandfather and grandmother). He had horror/action movies, and I decided to watch a couple. Needless to say, I was scarred for life. That's probably why I'm unfazed by creepy-ish things. To this day I remember how she left me, and deep inside I know I can never forgive her.