Broken Dreams

Once upon a time, I had a dream, I was a dreamer indeed. I dreamt I was a boy, and sooner, a man. With a white collar job, a wife, some kids, living all together in a house, similar to those houses in the suburbs. I dreamt I lived in other country, with a comfortable sex, being myself, being happy, not being gay, just a man, a good man. I dreamt of perfect love, a wonderful woman, excellent cooker and loving mother, of course, a good lover too.

I woke up, and I was a little girl, tomboy, skinny when I was younger and fat when I was a teenager. I was wearing glasses (till now), I was manipulated by my mother’s love, I was rejected by my brother and my father was the only person who was there for me, not always, because my mother was his superior. I wasn’t beautiful (till now) but I was intelligent. I had no job till my 25 years. I wanted to be an artist, I painter, I wanted to be a photographer, I wanted to be archaeologist, I wanted to change my sex, I wanted to be loved, I wanted to be happy and I wanted to be myself.

I had values, I had nothing to offer but a strange love, I had good friend I met at the university, I had my mom’s rejection (still), I had no job when I finished my career, I had no future in front of me. I had suicidal tendencies too.

I never met a lesbian before. When I went at the university a straight girl introduced me to her lesbians’ girlfriends. I had no girlfriend at the time.

After the break-up with the bitch, what I got? No more dreams but other realities. I had just my clothes, my cat, my computer, no music, no friends, and only memories. I discovered today that my ex met someone(s) when we finished. I guess she slept with the other girls in the mattress I bought, listening interesting music I downloaded, telling her stories about South America and more lies for not telling anything about me.

It’s the first time I feel I never existed. I never existed for someone, that I never had dreams.

Today, I want to die.


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