After my father died when I was ten, I learned quickly that nothing would ever be about me. It was more about my mother's overall pain and sorrow and my brothers' addictions and crime sprees.

Lost and alone somewhere in the middle I longed for anything to be about me. I longed for love and attention. I felt ignored, deprived, unloved and abandoned.

My family had their own agenda and I was the tag along. I came to believe I was flawed and not worth it. My pain only added to theirs.

I knew it wasn't about me because I didn't matter.