You know what I love about my life? It's different. Perhaps you do not understand my meaning. Very well, I shall explain it to you. My name is Kitty. On the outside, I look like a normal girl. But I have secrets no others can ever find out about, save those who are like me.

You see, I am a mutant. Very early in my life, when I was around 13, I was going through a state of depression. One day, it went too far, and I had a crying jag and I couldn't stop screaming at my parents. That was when I became a mutant.

The DNA of a mutant, that is, the things that make a mutant become a mutant, often lie dormant until around early puberty when the person has a fit of emotion. Then it is awoken-and so far as we know, it never dies down again.

My gift is that I can walk through things. Walls, doors, windows, you name it, I can go through it.

Here's how it happened:

As I said earlier, I was very depressed. I felt like no one loved me, and in that sentiment, I was probably right. My mother was too busy with her job to love me; my father too involved with his beer to even pay attention to me.

So, it seemed like I raised myself. (And I dare say, I think I did a good job of it, too.) It went on like that from the time I was 7 until I was about 14. Every morning I would have to wake myself up, fix my own lunch, walk to school, and no one really cared.

They didn't care if I even went to school or not, they just wanted me to grow up, and get out. I felt the exact same way. I was tired of having to live with people who I never saw at all.

Every day after school, I would come home to an empty house-my mom at work and my dad who knew where. My mom would work late hours, and my dad would stay out on the town sometimes until dawn, hunting down good liquor and fast women. The only person who didn't know about his activities was Mom, because she was too busy to actually see what was in front of her nose.

I would fix my own supper, watch a few TV shows, do my homework, take a shower and go to bed. For the first few years, I just accepted it as a part of life. But as I grew older, I started to not like it at all.

About age 12, I started to get depressed. I got in with some bad crowds, made some wrong decisions-several that included a frantic trip to the grocery store for a self-pregnancy test. The only reason I went beyond the limits was because I wanted to feel loved. Now, I realize they only did it for my body. Not because they loved me. I regret those decisions.

I smoked pot, I smoked cigarettes, I ate brownies, I did everything under the sun, just to see if my parents would stop me. They never did.

So, I got even more depressed, and started cutting myself. Eventually, at age 13, it reached a climax. My mom had just come home at midnight and I was sitting on the sofa, watching an R-rated movie.

"Kitty!" my mom gasped, and switched off the TV. I just turned it on again. "Kitty, what are you doing up so late? And why are you watching this movie?" she turned it off again.

I turned to her, and said sarcastically, "Oh, so now you care?" "What are you talking about?" she said, starting to turn pale.

I turned to her, and like lava boiling from a volcano, I erupted. "I'm talking about the fact, Mom, that you don't give a crap about me. You are never here. I hardly ever see you except on Sundays, and then you're at your stupid computer typing up something for your stupid company, or IM-ing your friends instead of talking with me. I'm talking about the fact that you're blind to the fact that Dad doesn't give a flip either, because every single night he's out on the town having a super great time. I'm talking about the fact that you could care less about me. That is what I'm talking about!"

And with that, I tried to storm out of the room. I reached for the door handle, but I went right through the door, and found myself in the other room. I stared at the door for a moment, then slowly pushed my hand towards it. My hand went through.

I pulled it back in, fast, worried that maybe I was in a virtual reality. I pushed my head through, and then my whole body through the door, where my mom stared at me in shock, either from my eruption or from what had just happened I'm not sure.

I stared at my hands, touching my face, my hair, trying to figure out what had just happened. I walked straight towards the wall-and walked straight on through it. I leaped out, and screamed.

And so it began. When I was 14, I ran away, because now that my parents knew, they tried to sell me off as a publicity act: The Freak, they practically proclaimed. At first, I went with it, and my dad used half the money to buy drugs, drinks, and women; my mom used hers to help out her company so she could try and get a higher position.

Then I couldn't take it anymore. So, I left, going to where I had always wanted to go: Canada.

That was when my life turned around.

A/N: I started one that's similar with Kitty's, only it's Rogue's, but I like them both, so I'm doing them both, although Kitty isn't in the X-Men movie, so I'll just write her up a new adventure. I don't own any of the characters mentioned, waaah!!!