I'll try to do this in order...

To begin with my little story, I believe that as far as I can remember is when I was 4. Okay, so, I remember living in a little apartment with my mom and I had no idea where my dad was. He was never around at that time, never helped pay for the rent. My mom was getting child support I think and I don't know, the money stopped coming in I guess. We couldn't pay for the rent anymore, that's when we got kicked out, and my mom and I were living in a grocery cart outside of 7-11, begging for money. That went on for a couple of months, until we found a place to stay at my god parents' mobile home. It was a very nice mobile home park too. Druggies lived there, but really good people, nice kids and stuff. There was a park down the street. So things were cool.
My mom got a new boyfriend named Timmy. He was homeless as well, begged for money by the freeway by a Toys-R-Us. He got good money too. About $60 every day he panhandled. He bought my mom as much as he could. Although, we left my godparents to live with Timmy in his orange mini van. (I remember this perfectly) One day we went to motel and got a room, the three of us. Over night we slept there. The next morning, we went outside and the van was gone. My dad stole it back (I guess Timmy and my mom stole it from him I dunno) and we ended up in a grocery cart again. A while later in the year, Timmy died of a brain tumor. He was vomiting blood in an ashtray right in front of me. He died in the hospital.
When I was 5, I remember my mom and I were at a Rite Aid store and my dad was in the parking lot. My mom had a new, green Thunder Bird car. My dad took me away from my mom that day to live with these other people. My mom lived in the park with Timmy. Though, we did visit her often. When there were parties at that park, we'd crash them and no one would mind. Now, the people I lived with that my dad took me to were mean. Not even mean like... Cruel to me. They'd beat me up because of what music I liked, I used to be a little chubby, (Baby fat, I was 5) and abused me. My dad couldn't do anything about it because he barely had any money anyway, so we couldn't move out. The bruises, scrapes, black eyes, and internal scars they put on me got so bad, that I went to school one day and told the principal about them and she talked to the cops. They did nothing about it until I was 8. So let's jump from 5 to 8 now. School-wise, I hated my teacher. Home life was still the same. Getting beat if I didn't stay in the hot trailer I was forced to live in, in their back yard. With no plumming, TV, refrigerator, or A/C. So in the summer, of course I didn't want to be in there. My dad was gone at work most of the time, the kids would hurt me if I go outside, and they won't even let me go inside half of the time because they hated me.
In September that year, my mom came over to visit me for the weekend. It was Sunday where she was supposed to go home to her homeless program. (Which is a lot better than a park)Instead, she went to the front of the liquor store on the curb, got a bottle of pills, and overdosed. She actually died but a guy walking by named Charlie, called the ambulance where they brought her back to life. Charlie was another person who was important in my life because he saved my mom's life. He goes to that liquor store everyday and we say hi to him still.
In April of 2009, my dad finally saved up enough money to live in a little garage away from that other place. I remember that last week we had to live there, I was crying and saying "I wanna leave now! I'm sick of it here. I don't like it." And when we moved, it felt like a new life for me even though it was a garage, it was pretty big, it was home-like, the owners were so nice and there was another little girl the same age as me named Emily who lived in a little room in the back. There was also these twins the same age as me across the street, and another girl about 3 houses down from where I lived. I got into drawing, singing, playing guitar, bass, and piano. I was happy in that house.
Until September 2009, my dad was diagnosed with lung cancer. In March 23, 2011, he passed away. No matter how many times he left my mom and I homeless, I know he loved me. If he could've done better, he would've. He died trying for me. Now in 2012 in January, my mom and I moved into a real house thanks to her real estate job with my uncle Mike. At the moment, I'm happy about the present, living in a beautiful house with my pets, my mom, and my uncle. The present is all that matters now which is why, I seem so happy to others.
I think that's it.