My childhood(hopefully I can get through this without vomiting and/or shutting down)

Our scars remind us that the past is real http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rORPLLZzIwA I just realized that since I'm not giving links to the official videos this could be considered copywriting... o.O So this song and the lyrics don't belong to me! Its Papa Roach's and his record label's and stuff. DON'T FREAKING ARREST ME!
So anyhow, on to my childhood. (Crap, my mom is up and in a bad mood, so this might end up being put off...) Some, possibly all of you are going to read this and be like, hahaha, this isn't real, she wants sympathy and attention and shit. No, I just got reminded of my childhood by some crap my bro put on the television and decided to put this up. So those of you thinking this is bullshit need to piss off.
Let's see, I've tried to block most of this stuff out, so this post might end up confusing and twisted if it isn't already.
Some of my earliest memories are of pets. Like the time I opened the door cuz I was excited my dad was home and my dog got out and was hit by a car. Or waking up to my mom crying and shaking a trash bag open so that she could put our mangled cat in because he'd been attacked by a pack of wild dogs. Or all the times that cat got his paw slammed in the door cuz he was trying to get out and then he would pull himself to the top of the doorway with his paw still stuck. Or the time my dad's cat died. Then there was the divorce, my mom coming home drunk, the police lights outside my house that I still don't remember why they were there.
Then there was ABC, my daycare. I have acid reflux problems. Very bad acid reflux problems, to the point where I have pills for it. This information plays into some of this. I remember this racist black teacher person. Her name was Ms. Barbara. She hated me. She would shove spinach and stuff down my throat and then force me, at nap time, to lie down on my stomach. I am a side sleeper, and have never enjoyed lying on my stomach. It is one of the most uncomfortable things for me. So yeah. And then there is the time when she took my shoes and forced me to run, barefoot, across the field, where I stepped on several bees. And then she took almost every possession I'd ever brought to the daycare and either destroyed them, or flaunted them(like my hair clips). Then there was the time she fed me overcooked peas and I vomited all over the place, crying, and she was laughing, and finally called my mom when another teacher person came by and glared at her. And there was also the time I got really super sick and the same thing happened. One of the worst memories of that place had to do with my acid reflux. I remember this one more clear than the others of the daycare, though not as clear as I remember some stuff. So anyway, I remember we were playing outside and I began to have the chest pains that come with it, so I asked if I could call my mom and go home or get some tums or something to relieve it, and they said no, go play. So I sat on the step as it got worse and I started to feel it in my back, stomach and sides. I lay down because at that point, it hurt so bad I couldn't move without having pain shooting through me, and then it began to hurt to breath. So I was breathing shallowly and the teachers just kind of laughed at me. I don't really remember if it went away at ABC or if I went home, but I remember the pain. I believe the one teacher, Ms. Barbara got fired when I finally told my mom what had been happening.
Onto school. McArthur Elementary. Granted, I actually had fun here, I had no idea how bad it was until we moved. Anyway, we only had two subjects, math and reading. And this is in third grade, mind you, I'm not talking about freaking kindergarten. And even that was bad because I was let in late because I was born like 2 hours after the cut off date. I was a smart child and they wouldn't freaking let me into school because of 2 freaking hours.
Going back to third grade, we were still learning addition and subtraction and 'reading' was "Grab a book off the shelf and shut up so your teacher can check her emails." I was always done with the whole math lesson within like two minutes and there were never enough books too read and I got in trouble because I was too smart. I came here with no knowledge of history or science and I was only ahead in math because I'd inadvertently taught myself multiplication and division. Again, rewinding to this school. I loved it, I had fun, I thought it was an awesome school except for the spiders that were the size of books and the big kids that always cut me in line for anything. When I came here, the school, London Towne, to me, was freaking amazing. I had some catching up to do, which I did, but I thought the school was like the most awesome school in the world. I come to middle school and find out that my school was the freaking ghetto school in the area. Do you see how bad McArthur was?
My dad's gf's/wives: were horrible. One of them made me clean her entire house and if I refused she'd hit me and stuff, and then whenever my dad came home she'd sit me down in front of the TV and tell him I just watched Snow White repeatedly.
Home life, mother of god. First off, siblings. My oldest younger brother and my younger sister were/are mentally ill. Combined, they were/are autistic, had aspergers syndrome, ODD, ADD, ADHD, anger issues and a bunch of other crap I can't remember but they got called fucking alphabet soup. And my mom was/is a single mom, 3, now 4 kids, 2 with every fucking mental illness on the planet. Second, house. I don't remember how old I was when we moved from the single family home into the apartments/townhouses, but that was crap. At first, it seemed really good. We had wonderful neighbors and security. But then those neighbors moved away, and we got some racists against us on either side. Both would play their music so loud our freaking toilet would vibrate. But that's not the worst part. One day, we went to the Tulsa County Fair, cuz we always loved it. Anyway, we came home to find that our house had been broken into. Back door had the lock torn off and part of the freaking door was missing. Our TV and every electronic had been stolen, except for the VCR which had been smashed against the wall. We were missing half our furniture and a bunch of odds and ends. Our refrigerator, which we'd just stocked that day with our food stamps for the month, had been emptied aside from some frozen peas or brussels sprouts or something. Anyway, the next day, our oh so sweet neighbors come out and the chick is wearing my mother's stolen slippers, they admitted to stealing out stuff and laughed in our faces. So we went to the security, they told us we had to go to the police, and the police said the security had to deal with it and no one did shit about it.
The move: So from Oklahoma we moved here. Not too much bad crap has happened. I'll just say, the police had to be called on my bro twice because he tried to kill everyone in the house, my sister tried to commit suicide many times, and they both ended up in mental hospitals, then foster care. They finally came out, my sister turned into a bitch, my bro got sent to live with my dad and neither of them are mentally stable, they moved back to OK, and now the landlord is telling us we have to be out of the house by September 30th, and if we don't find a house in the Centreville HS area (where I've just now excepted that there's no way I can go to Westfield with my friends), we're moving to Alexandria.
Anyway, thinking about this makes me feel crappy, so I'm going to stop with this. Its all freaking true. Maybe someday I'll write about the happier aspects, but for now, imma go write that poem. Ve-Meow! (that's goodbye in italy cat)