Life is good. why should it be otherwise?
I go to work early everyday in the morning, with the largest smile I can muster and in inappropriate shoes. Work is manageable and reasonably fulfilling. I go wherever I like, and eat whatever I want during weekends. I have a wedding, house, and car to look forward to, in that order. I have lovely someone who treasures my company. I have not spoken to the one who didn’t in quite awhile, because I don’t want to.
I repeat this again and again to myself, and try to beat it to my bones. I will succeed, one day. It will become unequivocal truth. I am a queen of lost causes because I am one, myself and I haven’t really given up on me yet. I am happy, really, for most part. But sometimes when I get tired and all I can do is sit and stare blankly at my fingernails and wonder how I got myself into all this. And wish, with fervency, that I was slightly more dimwitted, which would have allowed me to chase that dream all the way to my doom.
Of course, there is no sense in choosing to chase it when the odds are that 40 years down the road as an old woman you look back with dust on your head and remember more sorrow than happiness. My mother washed clothes while being 8 months pregnant. My mother still gets yelled at when she speaks out of turn. I wish I was too stupid to understand what that implies for women who did not marry very well. But I made the smart choice. I walk tall with my head high now, but I still tremble and cry at night, thinking of the hurt I caused to one who did not deserve any such pain, and thinking of someone alone at home in bed with a fever whom I cannot speak to. I will not speak to him, more for my own well-being rather than his. I am afraid to think about why I don’t feel regret in the mix of poison that this has generated. You probably won’t regret doing anything you have done with all your heart, no matter how terrible the consequences. But then again, I probably won’t regret doing what is wise, no matter how difficult it may be at the moment.
How can I express the unhappiness I feel right now, without feeling like a wretch? How could I say I want the moon when someone gives me the world? Perhaps there is no better way to say it. I can equivocate my way out of this but perhaps it is pointless to do so. Perhaps I am simply the worthless slut I am afraid I have become, or perhaps have always been, or perhaps always wanted to be. I don’t know. There are so many things I don’t know.
Courage, don’t desert me please
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