I was talking to my grandma last night and she said something about her 5 great-granddogs and how she hopes she doesn’t get any more great-granddogs.
I said, “Don’t worry Grandma. You won’t be getting any great-granddogs from me.”
She was very supportive of me in this decision.
I wish everybody could be as accepting of my life circumstances and my reality as my grandma is accepting of my not having a dog.
I know that I’m not going to get married and I know that I will never have biological children. I know that. I’ve known since I was 3 years old.
This is reality for me.
And it’s tortuous when people tell me that I’m wrong and that I’m going to get married and I’m going to have children.
You’re telling me that I have to believe for something that has continuously been dangled in front of my face and then yanked away as soon as I started reaching for it. You’re telling me that I have to believe that there’s someone in the world who wants me in spite of me. (They keep telling me “it’s not you, it’s me” but when you’re the common denominator in like 8 nearly identical situations, you know they’re lying.) You’re telling me that I have to believe that somehow, some guy is going to see me as something more than a toy that they play with and then throw in a box in the basement when something better comes along. You’re telling me that I have to believe that there are men who want to get married.
Please. Please stop arguing reality with me. Stop telling me that I’m wrong. Stop telling me that I can’t be sad because my life is exactly opposite of what I wanted it to be.
Please, just stop. I don’t want to hear anything. I need silence. I need someone to acknowledge that I have plenty to be sad about. I need someone to just sit with me and maybe cry a little bit.
Because hope deferred makes the heart sick.