My life began in Stockton, California on March 29, 1988 at Dameron Hospital. In 1991, I was placed in the system as a foster child, but it is still unclear whether this was voluntary or involuntary. Between the years 1991 and 1992, I lived in a hospital due to my serious injuries. I was stabbed six times, suffered a spinal injury, and had to undergo several medical procedures to repair the damage. In 1993, at the age of five, I was placed in the care of my grandmother who took care of me until September 12, 1996, when she died of natural causes. At this point, I was taken from group homes to orphanages, from orphanages to foster homes, and from foster homes to group homes. From 1996 to 2000, I lived in six group homes, four different states, three orphanages, and 16 different foster homes. Every horrible thing that could happen happened. I was attacked, beaten, starved, abandoned, homeless, raped, degraded, insulted, etc. All the emotional, physical, and spiritual abuse I suffered made me a very confused, resentful, and extremely depressed child. Whose only wish was for this life to end or for things to somehow improve overnight. Although I had some good families and wonderful times, they were so few that they seemed more like dreams than reality.