Subject not Object

I've never thought I'd be someone who considered ending it all themselves. Not because my life was particularly great, but because it was always something that had happened to me. I was the passive object, not the active, doing subject. I was 27 years old and so far nothing in my life had seemed like a choice I'd made. We've moved around a lot when I was a kid, my mom never able to hold down the same fast-food job for very long. I got used to packing up the car, leaving behind schools (never friends, I didn't make any) and heading to a new town. College wasn't a question, so when I turned 18 I took a job at the same McDonald's my mom was working at at the time. It was right before she'd been diagnosed with cancer, the fast-acting kind that left her dead six months after diagnosis. I'd quit to take care of her, and the measly entirety of our money had been poured into the futile treatment regimen, so that at the end of it I was left without a mom, without a job and without a house. That was how I ended up out on the streets, wandering, begging, scavenging - it's nearly a decade now, a point I won't let it get to. Rather than wait for the next sharp arrow of misery, I've had enough.