I never thought I would get to the place where I could say I was happy. But today, July 20, 2008 I am. Suicide is no longer part of my agenda.

Being raised by a parent with OCD out of control was a rough start in life. My father worked two full-time jobs and everything in our house had to be perfect including his new baby daughter Claudia. No matter what time my father came home from work I had to be awake and dressed up so he could spend family time with me and then want me to go to sleep when he was ready to spend his own quiet time before going back to work. They convinced my doctor that I was having problems with my sleep cycles and the doctor gave them medicine to wake me up and sleeping medicine to get me back to sleep.  My parents wanted the perfect baby, which meant I had to be potty trained ahead of any other baby – 9 months old. I still remember the shame for making a mess. As a young child I was not allowed to play outside as I might get dirty, no neighborhood friends could come over who might mess up my father's yard or his house in some way. By the time I was 3 I had a baby brother and sister. We were washed and spent most of the day sitting on the couch so as to not dirty the house or ourselves. Our house was immaculate as was my father's car.  Our food was set on our plates in an exact order. I could not handle eating at other children's houses when I was older. No food was ever supposed to touch any other food on the plate.  I tried to go to birthday parties but would end up crying and had to be taken home because I had to have everything the same as at home. I soon found that counting would help me feel better or pretending nothing was real.