What was ironic was my abusive mother actually made me read this book when I was in middle school (I had dyslexia and had to take special reading classes, so she forced me to read this so I’d start reading more mature material than the “childish” easy books I was reading) I grew to love it because of how emotionally connected I was able to relate to the author. And I always loved it because I felt that the book was able to capture writing emotions in a complex way that I personally appreciate, because your able to get lost in that push and pull of how many things are being felt in a particular moment, making it so easy to get lost in the experience of almost being there yourself. this book has actually always inspired me to write an autobiography in the future similar to this of my own experiences, since I originally wanted to be an author when I was younger. So to say I’m bias on the book being good is an understatement. Though I’ll admit I had to buy the book again recent bc it has been so long since I read it so I am basing this on what I felt when I was much younger and how I’ve continued to feel about it