I grew up with a mother who was too sick to care for us. My father spent days at work to support our family, which, in the end, was not enough. My mother suffered from Bipolar, which was later passed down to me. She messed with drugs, and my family was the punching bag. I grew up supporting myself after their divorce, and I became silent. Within my silence, I could imagine a world of peace sitting in my bed, looking at the dark ceiling, even if It was the only thing I had.
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