At this time in my life, it does not yet occur to me that the things I have always longed for are things I can make myself. That if I want cheesy garlic biscuits, I can bake them. That if I wish to have a loving family, I can create one. I still believe that these things are preordained and inaccessible to me, destined to happen only to the girls with shiny hair and perfect blue tags at the backs of their shoes. I still somehow think that if someone treats you badly, even if you are a child, it is because you deserve it. This is, apparently, easier to wrap my head around than the alternative.
