Ten was the year that I last watched the polar express in hopes it'll come and take me to the North Pole, the land of Father Christmas and wherein Christmas elves reside. Eleven was the year that I last got disappointed finding the non-existent Neverland on the maps, which only know about the Americas. Twelve was the year that I lost hope that I'll ever be able to bend light and become Iridessa, my beloved light talent fairy, who fly across the lilac skies turning them into golden sunshine. Thirteen was the year that I last tried to befriend Jack Frost when it snowed for the last time in my tiny little town that I left behind. Fourteen was the year that I last dreamt of Pixie Hollow and becoming a fairy with violet wings and sweet smile, with golden clothes and pixie dust wrapped all around me like a fantasy. Fifteen was the year that my mind was ruined. He showed up and destroyed my mystical kaleidoscopic lie where all my imagination dreams stayed. Every vanished and all creativity lost to the knowledge of what had happened to me. He is the eternal truth that cannot be undone. He is the lie that I'll forever believe. He is the only rule in men's life, who create weapons of mass destruction to kill each other and the innocents without any goal in nothing but their animal minds. He latched onto me like a parasite, ate my brains inside out and laid its venomous eggs in my prefrontal cortex, poisoning my curiosity. My personality became that of a cockroach stung in the thorax by the Jewel Wasp. At this point I don't have a free will, I'm being controlled by him who asks me to do the wrong and be a devil just like him, the one who crucified me. He did something bad, he hit my head, broke my nostrils which drowned me in impure blood. I lived in darkness for one whole year, my body going stale every minute. My body was aching from bottom to the top. He had hurt me so bad that my ears were red. I was blue and he was like a dark shadow following me around. Where I went his memory followed, wherever I sat, I felt dead. Months felt like years has gone by, a tick of a second was one step closer to dying. My body shook recalcitrant. To stop, I'm cutting my arms like he cut tags on his clothing. I shaved my head, wore black and lived in isolation until my baby came for my resurrection. "Sixteen was the year that I felt whole again; all the emotions came back to me from the void of numbness that I felt till yesterday. Today was a new day full of hope that I'll be okay from now on." It would've been a lie if it wasn't for my baby who got me chrysanthemums and strawberry sodas. I would've been dead if they weren't so good. They lit the fire of my imagination once again and made me who I was meant to be. Thank you my beloved, for making me whole time and time again.