I walked into the house and looked around at the perfectly clean eggshell walls with the crucifix hanging next to the hall. It was quiet. I remember it being quiet and I remember thinking that this isn't good. No. You can't start an afternoon off like that.

Then my father came out and all my courage balled up inside of me hiding from myself. What was left of me looked straight down at the floor. Don't look up he might look back. I don't want him to see me.

This has played out many times. Day after day. Walk in, look down and hurry back out and find some supper because there isn't any anymore.

"You're a god damn loser." he said mixing his stuff.

"I know." I whisper near crying.

"You aren't going to amount to anything. Why the hell do you even want to go to college you'll just flunk out. What the fuck is your problem?" he railed off.

Why would I even bother to say anything? Then I would just be an insubordinate loser. It's better just to take it because talking back just makes everything worse. I know. I've tried it already. That was the day he called me a bitch.

Everyday I'm told that I'm not good enough. Everyday I rush out to find supper. Everyday I rush out to get away from him. I'm not allowed to defend myself because everything is my fault. Even the weather.

People say that I have a perfect life compared to them. Money, family, no divorces. It's all a lie. I have no money other then the stuff I earn. I grew up drinking powdered milk mixed with water on a good day. It was fun having cereal with no real milk. Sprinkle the powder on and chew until it becomes milky. I was raised by my neighborhood kids.

I've never been good enough. I've pushed myself to my limits and back again only to be called a loser. But I guess that's the way life is sometimes. I realize I can't be perfect. I know I can't please everyone. But it won't stop me from trying. Until someone tells me that I'm good enough I don't think I can feel like I am.