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I had the misfortune of being the last child born. 5 brothers and sisters and I’m the baby. I’m sure everyone is wondering what the problem is. Being the baby is fantastic, you get pampered, showered with extra attention, and hold a special spot in your parents’ hearts. Not for me however, as I have a different mom from the rest and I’m hated, and put into a corner for it. They feel like the reason my dad divorced their mom is, well, because of mine. So I was hated the first day I was born. You don’t need a brain to tell my family and I do not like each other. Throughout my teenage years I fantasized about running away so much it became an obsession. I was constantly hit, and yelled and screamed at for practically nothing. I was a scapegoat for everyone and I was sick of it.  Then one day I finally decided I was going to do it. I packed a small suitcase with essentials. Toothbrush, clothes, deodorant, money from my job at Burger King, phone, and a phone charger. A methodical plan was set in place and I was never going to be more ready. 3:00 am struck, and I climbed out my window toward freedom. I took the nearest bus to Glendale, Arizona and I couldn’t be more ecstatic. I was gone from the torment. Three hours and 36 minutes later, we were there. I stepped off the bus and saw my future before my eyes. I was going to be someone.. without anyone behind me.