I used to write on here all the time. Or so it felt like. When I did that I was freeing my mind. I grew up with none to talk to. It was a scary time my childhood. Always on the edge. Behave like the perfect child or else! And then other times i was too perfect and then it was the same - change or else! I didn't have access to my own bedroom. I grew up knowing quite quick that if my mother wanted my bedroom I better get out. Sometimes I would get in the attic, sometimes out into nature and other times sit in the kitchen or lounge waiting until I was allowed back in my bedroom. There was this one time my mother decided to ghetto blast the neighbourhood with opera and classical music. She put the speakers in the window (of course opened the windows) and on full volume. She told the whole neighbourhood how much she hated them and knew they were talking about her. She did this from my bedroom. I didn't dear stop her. I think I always deep down knew it was best to let her get on wit...