She sat.
A simple girl, with simple needs, sat on her front porch on a cold autumn day, staring at the old oak tree that kids gathered around on an almost daily basis.
“I can climb the highest!”
“No, I can!”
She sat and watched as the other children played with their friends, talking and giggling without a care in the world, not noticing the girl that watched them, clenching her teeth as to ensure she would not start crying.
She felt a lump form in her throat as she daydreamed about her own special playdates, about how she played with her own group of friends: Her and herself.
For years, she had been the outcast. The no one. The girl who talked to herself and ate her lunch funny.  She wanted to have friends, like her sister, and her brother, and her classmates. But no one wanted to talk to her, because she was different.
And she hated herself for it.
She couldn’t interact with the others, because it was uncomfortable. She couldn’t eat in the cafeteria, it was too loud. She was restricted, and she was certain couldn’t do anything about it.
Her mother thought it was her fault. She thought that she made a mistake in her pregnancy with the girl. Did she eat too much? Did she not eat enough of the right thing? Why was her daughter, her only child, like this? Why wasn’t she like all of the other kids? Why couldn’t she let her food touch? Why did she burn the carpet? Why was she so destructive? She knew the girl didn’t mean to do the things she did, but why did she?
That was the question that was on her family’s mind.
The girl continued to stare at that old oak tree and the kids around it as her brown eyes flickered with a sense of sadness. She wanted what they had,
She wanted certainty. She wanted to know what she was going to do and believe in it. But her feelings of helplessness, like black beasts running rampant and swarming throughout her soul, stopped her. She wanted to have her own moral epiphany, like her mother and brother and everyone that did something great. She didn’t want to disgrace her family. She didn’t want to be a failure. She wanted to get her mother everything she ever wanted, to be her legacy. The older she got, the less likely it seemed. What even was the point, she tended to wonder. Was it all just wasted potential? Was she a waste of time? Her mind said nom but her heart was unsure. And she hated her uncertainty.
She wanted more. She was simple, sure enough, but she dreamt of greater, impossible things as she would lay on her bed at night, insomnia gripping her. She wanted happiness. She wanted greatness. She wanted everything. 
She wanted security. She wanted to be saved from this situation. Saved from her self-esteem issues. Saved from her tears. Saved from it all.
She knew that she needed to get these things herself.
And it bothered her immensely.