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When I was 6, I went to you.
You washed away my tears and drowned out the screams.
You were my only escape from the real world.
I dreamt of princesses that fought evil.
When I was 10, I went to you.
When I had no one to talk to.
When my whole world was dark and I didn't want to live anymore.
I dreamt of kids with crazy families and mean older brothers.
When I was 15, I stopped going to you.
Because I was so mentally weak,
I couldn't bother to pick up another book.
I dreamt of darkness and heard constant screams of pain.
When I was 17, I went to you.
And although you couldn't physically speak,
You told me you were proud I was alive.
I dreamt of protagonists that stood up for themselves and escaped their minds.
Now I am 19, hopefully on my final push.
Needing to escape the oppression around me,
Just wanting to survive.
I dream of a happy life where I can love myself.