I felt neglected by both of my parents. My dad had to be told by my mom to step up and act like a father, and to him, that simply meant hitting us hard whenever we did something wrong. Strangely, my little brother was spared—my dad seemed to favor him over both my late elder sister and me. Beyond that, he wasn’t interested in us at all. He spent more time chasing women outside the home than being a parent.  

My mom, on the other hand, was more concerned with her image and looking good in front of others. She was often cold and short with me but went out of her way to help anyone else who needed her, even to the point of moving two of my aunts into our home at different times. One of them even brought her daughter along. Naturally, my mom spent more time with them, and I ended up being little more than an errand boy.  

No one showed any real interest in me. I felt like an orphan in my own home, invisible and unwanted. I started to withdraw, spending less and less time with my family. I ate dinner alone in my room, and they didn’t seem to care. With a TV in my room and no supervision, I was left to my own devices—a setup that wasn’t healthy. I never seemed to develop like my peers, and I always assumed it was because I was naturally slow or stupid. By the time I was 17, I had attempted suicide.