From the time I was 11 years old I wanted to be a social worker. I also wanted other things for myself I was unable to accomplish, like a good solid relationship with someone who loved and understood me, never was able to get that, well not on a permenant basis anyway. Came close once though. It's important for me to try to make the world a better place for clients as best I can. It's really all I have anymore. I've stopped looking for a relationship, and even begun to doubt I ever really wanted one to begin with, it's almost like I can't remember that feeling, you know, wanting to find that special someone who didn't really exist. But then what is the meaning of life? does it have meaning at all? It's never a waste to help when you can, I believe that. Sometimes I am very afraid, afraid of what I will become when my parents die and my child is an adult and moved away. I want to her to move where ever she needs to in order to become a comlete and happy human being. Better than me. The thoughts of where will I go when I die, and what good was my life? What did I bring to this place we call life? I live, I work, I die. I'm sick far to often, I really hate it, I don't have alot of energy, diet and exercise do nothing to help, believe me I've tried. There is so much I want to do, but my energy won't allow it. My physical body does not want to cooperate, I miss to much work, and when I am at work, I'm exhausted. If i just had a reason to live, a reason to smile at myself and be happy, but I don't. I can't see a light inside myself, I see nothing, when I do see a light and feel motivation I get fucking sick. I've been sickly my entire life. There was some research done on how often children got sick and how well thier immune systems did to fight off sickness and compared those who were not physically punished to those who were, and found that there was a significant increase in sickness and decrease in ability to fight it off in those who were physically punished on a regular basis. Now this may have just been one of those hokey experiments where researchers just found what they wanted, but I was physically punished, hard and often, and it ALWAYS left Plenty of marks and bruises and blood was drawn at times. Once my mother's best friend found my backside and upper back legs covered in whelts, bruises and bloody whelts and was going to call social services, back in a day when folks did not call social services. I cried and begged her not to. I cried for hours while she tried to explain why she was doing it. I managed to talk her out of it. She did not call, but she went to my mother and told my mother that if she ever saw me looking like that again, that she would call social services.