My birthday is supposedly three days late. Again with the numbers, they always dictated my life. Well, my groupie thinks I have daddy issues. What they don't know is my grandparents are more or less my parents, and I'm praying they adopt me soon. "You don't have a kitchen pot to piss in", my grandma bluntly stated to me. Now my name might be queen but I'm not feeling very royal right now. This was after "the incident" which is a word people use whenever they are talking about something really, really bad. I know the rape wasn't my fault, but it felt like it was. Like he looked as creepy as he clearly was. Never did I think it would happen to me, but I learned a valuable lesson: You should be careful trusting even the least suspecting people. I know when she said that she wasn't talking about "the incident", but it didn't sting any less. I was lonely, frustrated, and in a bind. I was an adult, yes, but I was dependant on other adults in a constant tug of war of control. Control over my independence, responsibility, and overall say in any matter. You see, I had to leave University a whole semester early, because of the daunting terrors I had at night, which my roommate pretended not to hear. By this point my friends truly though I had gone berserk. They took me to a psychiatric facility, only to diagnose me with a serious but not so shocking mental illness called bipolar disorder and, beknownst to me, schizophrenia. Heavy right? I think what's hardest is knowing there's a chance I will take the medication for the rest of my life. My morals are against relying on pharmaceuticals to function, but with that being said I can understand it's place in the world.