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After my intense mafia dream, I started to look at my relationship with men. I began to draw patterns between the decisions I made in childhood to tow the line, to please my mothers needs, in exchange for warding off her unpredictable cycles of behaviour. I was scared on a daily basis of her verbal attacks, the way she would look down at me and say don’t be so pathetic, the way she would humiliate me in front of my friends, invade my privacy, and not allow me to have any iota of a normal personal life. By the time I was 11, after that first encounter with a boy I loved, or had a crush on, I mean, who can tell the difference? A crush? Love? It all felt highly real, delicate and explosive. I made the decision to rule out a personal life altogether and to devote myself entirely to my mother's love; ballet. I would fulfil her every dream, and pass them off as my own, so desperate I was to gain her approval.  

It felt beautiful, loving that boy.  His silky brown hair that fell down in a bowl around his face, his freckles, his shyness. He dressed smarter than the other boys, his grey jumper was ironed, unwrinkled unlike the other boys. His grey jumper with the burgundy v-neck that I swapped with him for my burgundy jumper with the grey v-neck, the jumper swap, a sign that we were dating. That, and holding hands. Years later when we met, around the age of 30, he recalled that I was very talkative, and he was very shy. My shyness around men, especially when I’m very excited to be around them, either creates a dumb silence with occasional explosives of the I carried a watermelon, kind. Or, it evokes in me the compulsion to fill the space with mind numbing information about my daily life on an extremely detailed and unnecessary basis. Desperate to impress this handsome stranger with everything I have ever learned, internally I’m left diminishing myself with thoughts similar to the kind of oh my god did I just tell him I carried a watermelon?

I quickly decided that the best way to avoid the wrath of my mother’s disgust and disapproval, should she find out that I had a predilection for boys, was to deny my desire altogether. Or at the very least to keep it as secret as possible. On an impulse, I return to school the next day, and announce to my friend O, that she should tell her boyfriend R, that L and I can no longer go out with each other. This passage of Chinese whispers rapidly ensues, my anxiety quietens. Thoughts of my mothers admonishment now takes a back seat. I breathe a sigh of relief and walk to the back of the classroom to pick up my books for the next lesson. 

BITCH L declares. I had been so relieved to ward off my mother’s potential threat of humiliation, that I had momentarily forgotten my love of L. His words hit me like an icicle to my breast as he looks up at me from his chair at the back of the classroom, next to the shelf where my school books are. Winded, I reach down for my books in an automated silence, and return to my friends at the front of the class. I don’t remember the rest. Just this one memory, haunting me for years to come. Had L not known the sacrifice I made was for him? For him to avoid the torturous humiliation of my mother’s scorn? Or was I a coward? Unable to stand up to the tyranny of my mother’s rule to fight for the love of a boy I hardly knew, but had plucked up all his courage to ask me out? Which meant asking his friend A, to ask his girlfriend O, to ask me. Which then meant, I replied with a yes, to O, who told her boyfriend A, who returned the message to L, that it was indeed a yes. From this transference, somehow we found ourselves holding hands, wearing each others jumpers, whilst he shyly listened to my nervous banter. Happy to be in each others company and making our first tentative moves towards love. The experience of which only lasted a day, or two, or three. I cannot remember. I only remember BITCH, and my inability to express how I felt and my confusion that he had not understood what my actions meant.

I sometimes wonder how different life would have been in so many cases had I made completely different choices.

**I have decided to create random letters to protect those I am discussing in present life, other than my family, who can never be anything other than my family. I would like to create a disclaimer that I share from my personal account and recollection of my own personal experience. If anyone wishes to argue my personal experiences, they are of course entitled to write their own account from their own recollection.