My bio from somewhat jungian perspective. Part 1

This is not a complain. Simply looking back from today's perspective. Looking for my identity. And so I will begin.      
I was born in the Soviet Union (now Ukraine). This event didn't impress my mother enough to remember the time.
- It was dark outside, - that's all she remembers. End even that is not to be sure of.
     My mom then was a beauty and way to young to bother about her kid's psychological state of being. She did just enough for me to survive and to be comfortable. I was not talked to about things that mattered, I wasn't to be bothered with enough to impose any knowledge on, besides huge list of what not to do and how not to be. I knew the list very well and my role accordingly.
     I never ever heard that I was cute, or even little. I believed I was a grown up with the grown ups expectations of accepted behavior. No big deal. I had nothing to compare it against. And so I became an extremely solemn and complex ridden teenager. I really hated my looks, my cloth, my everything. Never spared of scorn, I went into the world.
     School. Nazi like teachers. Especially one - her nick name was Marga! Scary and constantly on the verge of a major break down. Every minute -  visibly trembling, with eyes that threatened to fall out of her head if you dare to move or breath while she talks to you. And thus my spirit collapsed somewhere very deep. That manifested in the total confuse and fogy-like state of being in the mist, living under the water.
     One gypsy women grabbed my hand one day on the street, and looked into it intensely. I remember her face collapsed and she only said: Everything is black and for a very long time. She didn't even ask for money. Just went away. She looked into an abyss of my palm. That made her to forget the use of money. For some time at least.
     Constantly surrounded by one or the other dying of unanswered by me love school mate. Who was I? The drama queen? But if I was such, I didn't participate in it. I only observed, without a vague understanding of what is going on. Oblivious, I remember whole school was shaken because some guy tried to kill himself. I was to blame, of course, I didn't answer his love. But I was not even aware he existed! I would run into his hands, if I knew about it, I am sure of it. I shrugged my shoulders and moved my self away from the drama into the new one.
     Poppy love. He is 21, I am 15. Professional sucker player. Beautiful guy. Kind soul. Loving soul and not afraid to show it. That was enough for me to answer his marriage proposal with a yes. Army. 2 years of waiting for him. Still a maiden. One night I just felt sorry for him and gave up.
    17 - married, pregnant.
    18 - married with a kid.
- But you are such a kid yourself! -  exclaimed by-passers.
- Who? Me? What are they talking about?
   
My original painting attached.