And of dreams: I dream of a day when I might learn to like myself, maybe even love myself. Of a day when I can look at myself in a mirror and not feel that seething hatred for myself. I dream of looking down and seeing my arms - without scars from cuts or cigarette burns. I dream that no daughter of mine ever suffers as I have - that they never feel the self-loathing that poisons one’s soul; that they never harm themselves by cutting their flesh or starving their bodies. I dream that one day, one person might not reach for that razor blade, because of my story. I dream that my story might lead one woman to seek escape from an abusive relationship.
‘Pessismist’ you call me. I too have hopes and dreams. The only difference is… I know that they’re not likely to come true.
