I know I’m not going to live the life I dreamed for myself. I might be stubborn, but I’m not magic. I’m not going to have the nine children I want more than anything in my life, in fact in all honesty, I don’t think I’ll end up having any, but it’s nice to dream and fantasize about having the life I desperately want, with someone who loves me more than the world, with our babies and with our pet pigs. The problem is that, that’s just what it is – a dream. It's nice to dream just for a little while and smile about how you expect your future to be, but as soon as realisation hits and you’re back in the same rubbish world, and your heart starts to feel heavy with the deep knowing of the truth, you’re back to how it was before, hurting, crying.
The reason I know that I won’t live that life, isn’t because of the ridiculous number of children, or the abnormal choice of pet, but actually because I know I’m not going to be here...