Hmm, I'd have to say right now. Grew up in the deep south, in stark poverty. Raised by a psychically abusive father, and a sexually/physically abusive mother. Was too terrified of people to tell anyone what was happening, so I just endured it until my early teens when Katrina hit.
Lost most of my family and siblings, because my father decided we'd stay put and ride it out. That didn't last. Long story short, I wound up on the street of New Orleans, alone. With so many others destitute, help was non-existent. I survived for a good six months before things got really bad, and I had to trek back south, towards home, for a place to stay.
Met back up with my father, and brother, were we got too rebuilding our meager little house. From there I worked any odd jobs I could find, whilst homeschooling my brother. Years passed, jobs dried up, got sick of my old mans shit and no prospect for a potential future and I tried taking my life with a shotgun. Couldn't do it, called a suicide prevention help line. The consultant sent the police to get me, and they sent me to a hospital in the closest city to get some help.
What little 'help' I did receive quickly dried up when they found out I was uninsured. So, with a brand new dept of 22k, and back out on the streets, I realized that the only person who was going to help me, was me. I pooled all the many I had saved over the years together and bought a rinky-dink used car, and insurance. I lived in it while I roamed around working part-time and seasonal work: Firework stands, quick demo/construction jobs, things like that. It was rough, but my work ethic impressed my supervisor on one job and they hired me on as a fulltime. It was good, things were finally looking up for me. Had a good job, was looking into finally investing into an apartment, finally able to afford real food.
That was, until, on my way to work on my first day at being a full time employee. A truck collided into me as I was at a red light. Totaled my car, knocked me unconscious, and cost me all my progress. I was so banged up, I was let go. Because I was knocked unconscious, I as put at fault for the accident, because I couldn't give the officer on scene my disposition; and no lawyer I've spoken too is willing to take the case because of that.
Battered, bruised, concussed, I had to walk all the way back 'home', to live with my bastard of a father, for lack of anywhere else to go. Here I sit, consistently worse off then before, every time I try to pick myself up. Wondering, what's the fucking point anymore?