Well it only one person wishes to know my childhood so I'll write only a blog or two about it. I guess I should't publish a book about it. Very few souls take the time to read a book anyway. I do know if I were to write one, foster care agencies would contact me. I already know this because I was told this by a foster care agency.

A Child Called It was a NY Times best seller back in the day. When I started reading the book, I couldn't finish it. I was too busy dealing with my PTSD (and other diagnoses) and other crap. I was a test dummy for mental health professionals. I did more tests then a teacher grads in a single year. I had no idea I was a test dummy until years later and it had just dawned on me one day.

So I'll write a blog or two (maybe more if others wish to know and just didn't see my last blog) about my childhood.

Part 3 will be the start of my childhood. I was in a severely abused in a home that was suppose to be more loving then my parents. I was adopted. By severely abused I don't mean daddy took the belt to my ass and mommy washed my mouth out with soap. If that were the case, I would have made a blog about it long ago. No this is a case where black slaves had better treatment then I. This is the case where slaves in the bible had better treatment. It wasn't 100% bad just 99.5% bad.

The story starts at age 5 and ends when I was able to run away at age 17.