When I was 5 I dreamt of becoming an astronaut princess. I imagined myself flying through the stratosphere because I thought it was the furthest point called space. My uniform would’ve been a shiny pink ballgown with a crown and scepter, one that could shoot lasers at any alien lifeforms I met. Once I saved everyone I cared about, because my family was the only people on earth who existed to me at that age, I would take them to live on the moon. Why the moon? Because that was the only place I couldn’t reach from the ground I stood on and the sun felt too hot on my skin during the summer months. By the time I turned 10 I’d forget about such a silly dream for it grew into something more attainable without me realizing. I had a deep desire to dance on the stage before hundreds or thousands of people. That was probably more than what I could imagine at the time. I envisioned it so clearly that I, in fact, literally dreamt of it. Now there was a deep rooted conflict hindering that dream from becoming reality; I was afraid to dance on stage. I practiced in class, in my home, in front of the mother, yet my feet wouldn’t take me beyond the wings of the curtains on stage. The tune of the classical music notes tangled in my ears in attempt to pull my body into the spot light. The eighth dance count was my indication to enter, yet I’d never hear it. I remained frozen behind the curtains, until the end of every recital. After years of trying, I gave up on that dream.
By the time I became a teenager, I knew what I wanted most. I wanted to be a wife and have a family. Why was that on my mind so young? To be honest I couldn’t tell you. Perhaps I admired my mother so much that I wanted to be just like her. It also could have been the many romantic movies I watched that made it desirable. The truth is probably the latter. I couldn’t wait to become an adult and fall in love with my version of a Prince Charming. I couldn’t wait until he would sweep me off my feet and we worked through minor conflicts as it happened in every rom-com. I pictured our wedding, our children, and careers. I would be a stay at home wife, he would be a lawyer, we would have 3 children all within a couple years from one another and a dog. I romanticized the dream and hung onto it with all that I could. Then I met him. I thought it would have been sooner than my 28th birthday, but better late than never. He came up to me, introduced by our mutual friend. The guy who would soon promise me the life I wanted without hesitation. The guy who would turn my world on its head. The guy who would have me strung out on drugs within the first year of our relationship. The one who told me I was beautiful and then tear me down when he couldn’t get his fix. The one who tarnished my dream and gave me a new one, of becoming clean again. Here I am 8yrs later, still dreaming of that dream. Tumbling through a life I never imagined and the addiction keeps me from wanting to leave. He, the second love of my life as my drug of choice took that number one spot, that guy left me to become the butterfly that visits me on my worst days. Encouraging me to become clean. When I can’t get up from the floor and the only thing in my vision is the window, I see that butterfly sit on the top of the bush within my sight. It waits with me until I fall asleep. Everyday I promise it I will become clean and he promises me he will stay with me until I do.
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