I want to be nice to you so you’ll go away. Something tells me, you are not going away. I was there. I was there. I was there. You were not there. The cops were not there. The school district was there. Special ed teachers came to my house. It was Asperger’s Syndrome that got me into trouble because I have this tendency to see life as black and white. I know it’s not. But the black and white thing does not go away. Sometimes, I can put nuance into writing, but I do it because I want to draw you into the story, even when I am told over and over and over, that I can’t make up my own rules. The house was not abandoned (it was a fire hazard because the electric was done quite badly, don’t touch any exposed wires). We were living there and no one ever saw us because, quite frankly, we were the invisible. We do not count. I have not been back there in over fifty years. Living there in that house of horrors, you could see the driveway, but that is about it. I heard that someone was going to fix it up. Living there almost killed me. I reached 98 pounds. Even today, I start rocking when the image of that house seeps into my brain. I gave my family such a convoluted time. Asperger’s is a curse. I have scars you would not believe. I tried killing myself over and over. But someone always brought me back. Damn them. We were hungry. There’s that, but you only listed official facts and anyone can get those, but for the life of me, why, why. Thank you. I know all this shit and more. I never asked to be autistic. And I never asked to be here, either.