Dreams Should not be Made to Die
“If one wanted to crush and destroy a man entirely, to mete out to him the most terrible punishment,” wrote Dostoevsky, “all one would have to do would be to make him do work that was completely and utterly devoid of usefulness and meaning.” -Dostoevsky
The following is an exploration of emotions. Not to be acted on unless acted on to strive to be alive and strong.
I am destined to die relatively young and alone bc the culture of this screwed up country judges love by parents, background and education. I am destined to live with the memory of Jeremy Gilbreathe trying to RAPE me cut off from what I love acting bc we are a nation of bullies. I am destined to be judged by gossip and rumor bc of young kids who thought I was as old as I looked and old dirty men who could not stand that I liked not boys but men younger than me. Today I’m hacking off all my hair and saying screw it. People from the Union find out I even like an actor and I get stalked, blocked, bc I’m supposed to be with a non acting lawyer type who thinks he’s an actor bc he gets up in front of a judge. He puts me in his house with a car and forces me to have more children then I want ending my journey of adventure, killing my looks, but he does not care bc other men should not be looking at his property anyways. And the world thinks I should be grateful and happy for that bc that’s the American dream. But then my husband comes home and finds I’ve left this life of my own volition, because I hate the Money he’s made seeing the number of injustices where he took the money but looked the other way. The car he has given has helped cause the ice to melt. The kids are to much and are growing fat bc he does not play with them his job is his life and he does not care if his kids are now as ugly as his neglected wife. The house has become her prison cell and the reality she wanted was stolen away by people who took her hope, love of life and control away. Her dreams were to create things from her own creativity to leave behind. He did not connect with her soul or mind. The physical lust He felt was nothing compared to the passion she had for the craft and art of creating other selves. Hers was an abused mind that created characters to protect the wound inflicted by those who are supposed to protect, a father’s love for abuse and a mother’s neglect.