What defines me?

At 14 years old I was residing with my mother and stepfather. My mom finally had the tools she needed to be the parent she had always wanted to be. She was no longer alone. She no longer feared evictions and we stopped moving and planted roots. The problem being I already felt abandoned and the only people I had developed relationships with they were taking me away from. The phone bills I created were massive. I wanted so badly to go back to the life we had left. I resented my little brother as he seemed to have so much more love than I was able to gain. He was never in the trouble that I was in. He didn’t have to act out for time or attention. The begun to lock the phone away from me. Meaning now I had no one. I couldn’t hold a conversation with my mother that didn’t spin into a angry dispute. I couldn’t forgive what I was holding inside. I made calls myself to child protective services, the link crisis center and anyone who would listen and help me escape. I believe even the cops came when I checked myself into the crisis center. I can’t remember the finer details anymore. I remember being asked over and over are you sure this is what you want? You want to check yourself in? You don’t want to be home with your family? I was certain any life outside those four walls were better than in them. So off I went to St joe where the building was. Inside there were many other teenagers scattered about. None of them had sent themselves to the hell I had though. I wanted to stay on the bed I had been assigned but that wasn’t allowed. The room’s had 8-10 bunks in them and there was a community room with a pool table and some games and television. They held group therapies and cps came to speak to me. To be honest it really wasn’t to bad until it was time to eat. I just couldn’t bring myself to put a single bite in my mouth. It was a HUGE deal for them me not eating. They were ready to diagnose me with a eating disorder by day two. Thinking I was on some sort of strike. It was really nothing of the sort. I simply had food issues. Not weight issues not body image issues. It was the food itself the problem. It was how I was in control and at that age the only thing in my power to control. I became extremely picky I had issues with textures and food touching. The issues were very deep rooted. They begun making me sit at the same table I had fought to get away from. It opened floodgates of memories. I just couldn’t understand why everyone wanted me to sit at a table for my entire life. Why must they waste my time? It was my choice to eat I couldn’t understand why everyone felt the need to force it. Soon everything was dictated by the food issues. My restrictions racked up because if I couldn’t follow the rules on food then I couldn’t do anything but be made to stare at the food. I ran here for help and now I wanted nothing more then to run again. I can’t even remember now how long I was there. I can’t remember how I left or where I went from there. I can’t remember the people I meet I can remember the kitchen and dining area like the back of my hand. I can remember every single meal I was made to sit and stare at. I can remember the times they lifted the food to my mouth for me to clamp it shut and have no part in it. As a child how did no one reach out. How was I the one punished for not eating? The food issues have spilled into my adult life. Looking at a menu is overwhelming. I love to cook but hate to try what I cook. I sometimes gag while chewing thinking of someone winning by me swallowing it. Like I have given up the only control I ever had. Oh how silly this must sound. I am so damaged.