I do have my own little accomplishment to be proud of, anyway.
Well, first of all, I'm alive- and all things considered, that's more than I had expected.
...
I still have a job, and thank God that I haven't given it up completely, for any man.
A job that I love, that I've worked so hard for.
That fills my life, and makes me proud.
A job that allows me to support myself, and to be free.
To have my own money, my own dignity, my own freedom.
I've learned, in my life, that financial independence, really is the base for freedom.
That is to you, if you are a girl, reading this: always consider that.
...
And I took up running: I run, almost every day.
I found parks where I like to go.
I'm happy, just that I can see the beautiful colours of the sunset, of the leaves, turning to gold and orange shades for fall.
...
It's not like I'm never sad, because I am: I'm just not the same person that I was, many years ago.
I've seen too many broken lives, of people around me. Too many deaths.
And I've gotten through too much. I've learned so much.
I'm not the same scared little girl that I was, 13 years ago.
I found out that even through the pain, I have the desire to live.
I found out that I have, indeed, grown-up.
Somehow.
...
And in my country, you should know that people cannot adopt, nor access sperm donation, if they are single, or homosexual.
It's crazy but... that's it. Either you are married/in a committed (heterosexual) relationship, or you're nothing.
One day, I heard a debate on the topic.
Someone said that he was sorry that the adoption system was so flawed, because there were "so many people willing to love a child".
And that is absolutely true.
But one of the social workers involved, also said, that there were so many people willing to love a Caucasian, blond, healthy, and adoptable baby.
Not so much, instead, ready to take on other cases: older children. Minorities. Children with difficulties.
He wanted to spread awareness about those kids, also.
The kids that no one wants.
And through my job, I had the chance to talk to many foster kids.
I remember a boy, who told me once, that he still remembered when he was brought into his new room, for the first time. In in foster parents' house.
There were toys, and his name hanging on the wall in big, colourful letters.
He couldn't believe it was all for him: he was almost afraid of touching things, at first.
And then, I started thinking: If I'll have the opportunity, one day.
I'd love to do foster care.
Whether I'll be single, or with someone else.
If I'll have the opportunity to offer a glimpse of peace, a glimpse of love. To a child that has seen only hardship in his/her life, before.
Maybe a teen-ager. Someone that hasn't got anyone else.
Someone that "no one wants".
And maybe, who think that he/she's useless. Broken.
Maybe that's a thing I would really, really like to do.
...
And I have been having less nightmares, in the last few months.
I used to have a recurrent one:
I wake up, and I hear a ticking noise.
Like, someone tapping on a keyboard.
I walk to the study.
The light is turned on.
I open the door... and Theo's there.
In his favourite Naruto T-shirt.
And Theo, what are you... what are you doing here??
He raises his eyes-brow, like, what the hell do you mean?
And shut up, Bi. You'll wake him up!
Wake who?
And I turn, and there is a cot behind me.
I feel my heart clench. I try to reach it, but then, I can never see him.
I wake up.
I dreamt of it constantly.
I hated it.
...
Lately, instead, I was having less and less nightmares.
And finally, one year and a half after our breakup, I found the will to tackle the study- the room that was to become our nursery room.
When I opened the door, the room was dark. Cold- I hadn't even turned the heating on, during the previous year.
It was empty.
Just Theo's empty desk, and cobwebs on the ceiling.
And the ghosts, they were sitting there. Staring at me.
Finally, they said.
We have been waiting for you.
...
Eventually, I moved my whole wardrobe to the study.
I created a big, nice laundry room/walk in closet.
You couldn't believe how pretty the room looks, now!
Maybe we should have arranged it that way, from the very beginning.
But you know: you live, you learn...
...
And the ghosts are still there: they have not moved out.
They hide inside of a little closet where I store a box, full of memories, that I hadn't brought myself to throw away, not yet. My "Good morning, princess" mug. And letters, and pictures...
But they're hidden, and the ghosts with them.
And I hear them scratching, sometimes: they scratch the inside of the wooden door of the closet, where I've locked them.
When I'm there, getting dressed. Trying on a new pair of heels.
I know, they're calling me. They want me to go to them- but I ignore them.
And eventually, they stop.