I was a young child, at least one or two years old. I remember seeing my mother standing over me. It was a warm feeling. I grew up in Little Rock, Arkansas, where I had trouble with having a mental illness. For the most part, my years at home were good, until my first day of school, when my nightmare began. I saw hallucinations of cartoon characters and an image of a man called Jeramieh. He used to lie on my parents' bed. I thought that it would go away, but the older I got, the worst it got. At school, my days were dark. I constantly had to deal with cruel boys saying that I was ugly, stupid and four-eyed. I knew that something was wrong with me, but I didn't know what it was. It wasn't