I have amazing memories of my early days as the 2nd to the youngest child of seven children. One of my older sisters would let us play in her room and I remember my oldest sister teaching us that the skin was the best part of the potato. My oldest brother would occasionally give us rides on his motorcycle. The thing that stands out the most though was how happy my parents seemed. My dad taking pictures of scenery, my mom cooking in the kitchen, and though there was occasional tension in the house I dont remember any screaming or yelling going on except from us kids being kids. We had pizza night once a week, went on outings, and even had a dog named snoopy. Little did I know that things were going to change in a very drastic, and terrible way that would leave me a totally different child.
I'm a survivor 