I want to win the lottery.
I want to have that much money just in the background as a safety net.
I want to be able to buy the house I keep looking at online.
I want to be able to redesign the interior of the house with all the kitchen gadgets and bathroom tiles and technology and designer furniture that I want.
I want to be able to pay someone to carry a child for me. I couldn’t handle pregnancy on my own, I can’t stand the idea of any of the reproductive cycle, but I want a biological son, and I want to name him Ezra.
I want to be able to live my life freely of family or other commitments just because I feel I need them for background stability.
I want to give Ezra the childhood I never got.
I think about this daily. I enter every Tuesday and Friday draw. I hope it’s me. I pray it’s me. I’d do good by my friends and family. I’d do good by myself. I’d do good by my son.
I’ve been suicidal for almost eight years. It’s either I win or I die. I see no future otherwise. I want this house. I want this life. I want my son.
It’s almost impossible. The nearest damn thing to impossible.
But that’s why it’s a dream
I won’t give up yet
