Some days, I want to feel like the princess I thought I was. I want to be considered beautiful, not cute. I want to be allowed the dream I never had. Fantasize about lace and organza. Tulle and silk. I want to daydream about powder white sand and the glimmer in his blue-green eyes. She always told me I would ruin my own wedding day, so as a little girl, I decided I would never marry.
My journal when I was ten says,
What if I don’t become a writer, and I’m a single lady who lives in an apartment with a crabby old landlady. I eat chicken (with bones) and I pick around the bones and give the bones to my yellow striped cat and she has to have surgery.
I’m going to be alone forever.”
I never believed I’d find someone who loves me, and now my mom is stripping me of my dreams once more.