Truth Is A Bitter Pill
Now it's happened again: the dream of my very own tiny cottage is gone. It turns out the lot next door to the designated driver was never really available. I was under the mistaken impression that I was going to be able to buy it from him, but I've learned that in his divorce settlement that lot went to his son. It's not available for me to buy, and I can't build anything permanent on it. The whole dream was a carefully nurtured lie.
The designated driver didn't tell me the truth, because, he says, "I know, and I've known, that we would have to work this out--but I have admittedly feared talking about it. I want to keep this momentum up by which you are making strides toward a return to a life full of hope and future promise." He was trying to protect me from the unpleasant truth, since my hopes and dreams of the cottage were what kept me going. But I pressed the issue, and now the truth is out. There will no dream cottage. The "life full of hope and future promise" was an intentionally constructed illusion, and I was stupid enough to fall for it.
I'm totally devastated right now, and I have no idea where I'll live or what will become of me.