I had a roof over my head. I had food most of the time. I had clothes and blankets and a dog and a family. Still, I felt twisted inside. Like I’d swallowed a knotted-up rope. It wasn’t about losing my stuff. Well, okay. Maybe that was a little part of it. It wasn’t about feeling different from other kids. Well, okay. Maybe that was part of it too. What bothered me most, though, was that I couldn’t fix anything. I couldn’t control anything. It was like driving a bumper car without a steering wheel. I kept getting slammed, and I just had to sit there and hold on tight.
