The year was 1957, Osama Bin Laden was born, ultra sound technology was pioneered, baby boomers are at their peak. Innocent new lives filled with endless possibilities. But for one it was dark and deep in the basement where he did what he pleased and nothing good came to be. In the basement where no one sees, as if the world had turned a blind eye. Broken family, broken little girl, shhh quiet. Everything happened silently, dirty little secrets. Poor little loss soul, she had no idea of which way to go. She was filled to the brim with her unbearable reality from those who didn't give a damn and painful from those who did care but just didn't see, didn't understand and in their attempts only deepened her wounds leaving her screaming in agony as her sanity wavered beyond the norm and slid into the DMS3. Labels came slapped onto her name in judgment and pain; anxiety, depression, bi-polar, disassociation, complex post traumatic stress and borderline personality like a fucking tossed salad, a smorgasbord with a wide variety. No one willing to go beyond their comfort zone but hey were able to open their mouths spew their two cents of how they think I should be, they used words like responsibility, for God sake they told her to act normally, does anyone know what that is even supposed to mean.