When I was a little girl, I used to think that my life wasn't real. I liked to think that it was a dream. A very long dream. I thought that I would wake up at any given moment to my first house. I would wake up and see a thin strip of light intruding itself into my room and falling gracefully upon my grayish-blue carpet. My mom's beauty looking down at me tenderly. Her long dark hair practically touching my lips. She would be feeling my forehead. I would have a fever. She would pry my out slowly and carefully from my sheets and as she set my small feet upon the warm ground, my legs would begin to quiver. I would walk with her holding my sweaty hand tightly in hers, so I wouldn't fall down. She would walk me carefully down our steep pink-carpeted staircase. My eyes would burn from the reflection blasting back at me as we approached our small white kitchen. I would again be exposed to all of the duck decor enveloped in the room. She would sit me down at a country blue wooden chair and walk soundlessly to the fridge. She would look all around for the only thing she knew would make me feel better. Ah, she would find it. Ginger ale. The only thing I could drink without puking my guts out. Right away, I would dart to her with that sip-e cup in her hand and start gulping as though I'd been out in a desert for years. But perhaps that's what my real life felt like.

And after many years of this fantasy, I realized something. This was my life. Not a dream. At first, I cried for I felt as though my life was a disappointment. I felt like a disappointment to everyone around me. Every mistake and hardship I faced felt like a knife cutting deeply into my tender flesh. If you want to know something about me, my greatest fear in my life is disappointing those around me. I'd rather have someone hate my guts than be disappointed in a decision I made. I felt everything was my fault. But if I could just go back to that day and redo my life, I would have all the right answers. I thought about it constantly. But I knew I would never go back. No matter how much I tried to hurt myself to wake up. I suppose your wondering why this even matters. And to be honest, I'm not sure it does.