My mother's family bought the house I grew up in when she got married. It was an acreage that my dad and brothers studiously kept up with. She had a flower garden. We got to help stack the woodpile for winter and help with gardening for bringing in extra money at farmer's market etc
My dad worked at a factory and we had a big trampoline.
We couldn't afford maintenance on the house. When I was little one of my cousins helped renovate the bathroom, I suppose something had gone wrong with the pipes or something. I remember we had to use the outhouse for like a week or two while it was getting done. Then there was a shower door installed which I thought was crazy. A sliding frosted glass door thing like, wow.
Plus a little partition by the tub that made a pantry shelf thing for towels.
Pretty snazzy.

Anyway we grew up while it fell apart, but there was always running water, even though I was told to only shower once a week thanks to the bills, but there was always food. My dad used to ask me to make homemade French fries because they were his favorite. My mom would can a boatload of homemade pickles every year, and we never sold those at the market because I liked eating them too much.
I painted pumpkins. We'd sell three or four different kinds of watermelons and he always said they're guaranteed. I slept in the living room until I was twelve when I finally got my own room. The one with the stove pipe so it was always warm.

Most of the things I suspect I've been accused of have never occurred to me.
I don't know if I'm particularly disabled as far as mental capacity, functionally yeah but how much of that is environmental vs circumstances... It's hard to say.

Anyway the house became condemnable a number of years ago, but nothing happened, the family continued to struggle through with as minimal an impact as people minding their own business can, for all I know. The fire insurance stopped being renewed, my mother considered selling it but didn't want to pretty much force my brothers to lose that land, and I'm glad she didn't. Even though it kept deteriorating.
Not the land, but the structure.
Isolating. You know, I wrote a paper when I was a kid about the benefits of being isolated in that way. It was the best illusion of freedom I think we have yet available, all things considered.

My little brother ended up setting fire to the house.
Everyone was able to get out alive.
They can't even charge him. They entrapped themselves in targeting us to begin with.
He's okay.
Probably.

We used to play Pokemon when we were kids.
Not just on game boy color, I mean we used to larp in a poke blended dumdum universe we freely invented.
We used to pretend to have a radio show where we did really bad impressions of SpongeBob characters too.

I used to collect all different colors of bandanas and one day in middle school I had to explain to the administrative lady that I wasn't in a gang it just was a way to cover my greasy hair without breaking rules by wearing a hat.
What else.

What else, I watched 8 mile and wrote idiot raps. I angstily journaled about ways to hurt people as a cope against blatant injustices here and there.
One time, I was wearing red sweatpants sitting in the yard with a cat on my lap and it pooped on me.
I'll never appreciate red pants.

Anyway.
I hope that's okay