I did that a lot too...but I guess my one mistake was when I had just turned thirteen, I gave one of those stories (about a character very much like a younger version of me who was abused by her parents and then was adopted by her loving, maternal French teacher) to my French teacher at the time...she ignored me completely after that, this woman who I'd been so close to and loved so much for four years. My mistake for thinking that she might possibly empathize with me. I mean, what did I think I would happen? I couldn't have believed she was really going to adopt me, right?

Anyway, that whole situation traumatized me to the nth degree. I haven't looked at that story in years; I still have it on my hard drive and whenever I scroll past it, I literally cringe and start to tremble a bit. A lot of those stories were just about being physically or emotionally hurt or neglected and then just finding this mother figure who would love me and hold me and kiss away my tears and just make it better...I know I was a child (and still am, emotionally, sometimes), but I hate myself for feeling so weak that I needed that. And for destroying a real, wonderful relationship with a stupid fantasy.

When I was little, I was obsessed with Matilda. By the time I was eight, I could recite the entire movie verbatim. I think it completely destroyed my ability to distinguish fantasy from reality. I used to dream that someone like Miss Honey would come and save me from my life...but no one ever did. But still, somehow, I was never able to stop hoping.