Gross National Happiness Index

I'm eating Cheetos and drinking beer, like your sad ex-lover. I'm crying over her captions and fixating on your photos that capture the same life we had but with a modified cast. I've been so focused on your comings and goings that I've forgotten to keep moving myself. Social media is a daily reminder of everything I'm missing; a path of circles that I get lost in. It is also my door to world; a means of justifying my existence to the single or several strangers that choose to watch. Just within hours of deactivation, the colors of myself seem to fade without an audience to impress. There's no one but myself to pass judgement on, no one else to compare my life to, no one to water the flower that is my ego. With nothing else to fixate on, I'm forced to look within for acceptance and to focus on my own choices. I chose this path willingly but I'm scared to be alone on my island. I fear the thoughts that I've made room for and I worry that the isolation is framework for failure.

Crash and Burn

You returned to the scene of the crime. You committed murder and ran, only to return to do it again. Was I not already dead enough? Was it psychologically pleasing to return to see the chaos you had created? Perhaps you, being the psychopath that you are, saw your crime as a work of art that needed to be admired. Without empathy or a sense of remorse, you were an arsonist who came back to watch the fire- the fire that you started- burn me to the ground. Just as my ashes had begun to disburse into the wind, you swept them up and rebuilt 'us'. You created a false sense of stability and integrity in the composition of my soul... leading me to believe I had been reconstructed to be stronger and more sturdy than ever. I should have recognized that the foundation was built on muddied water. I should have known that the remnants of what was left of my heart could not support the load that would be hoisted upon it. When I crumbled once again, the dust was too fine to capture. I can not be rebuilt.

Shambles

Whether it's religious beliefs or the alignment of the stars, people always have a way of explaining and justifying the idea of cause and effect in life. For some, your actions determine the events that occur in your life. If you are a dick, dick things happen to you. For others, the world spins on an axis that is not altered or affected by your decisions; what is destined to happen will happen. I don't actually know what I believe but I think it is best described as some combination of karma and divine intervention. I can apply this to others' lives; you annoy the fuck out of me so it makes sense that bad things happen to you. In my own life though, I can't figure it out. I don't understand why it feels like I'm constantly being shit on, when I don't feel like a shitty person. I believe I am a good friend, a loyal person, a hard worker, an honest human being.. yet I am continuously hurt, abandoned and seemingly punished. I committed myself entirely to two different 'best friends' in life, both of who were able to completely cut me of out of their lives, and the lives of their families, overnight. I was a grateful and appreciative granddaughter. I was a protective and proud older sister. I can no longer play those roles anymore and it feels as if I was deemed unfit or unable to fulfill the duties, thus the opportunity was taken away. I loved with all of my heart and gave all of myself that I knew how to give, only to learn that it was all a farce. I feel unlovable; unable to love.  Maybe I'm a dick.

Across the Miles

It was 3:27am and every possible thought there was to think was floating through my mind, purposeless. Amidst all of the worry and fear and self loathing, I kept going back to how lucky I am to have someone in my life that understands me. 

Although it defies all logic, you understand my thoughts better than even I do. Despite my lack of rationality and my extreme judgements towards things that are foreign to me, you know exactly what I am thinking and why. Without having to explain myself, you decipher my words... you can tell the difference between my real and fake smile by a simple photo...you can hear the whole story within the tone of my voice, even when I cant bring myself to tell it. I don't know how you do it, and at times I hate that you have such abilities, but I am lucky to have you as my voice of sanity and reason. I am thankful to have someone that says the things I need to hear, whether I want to hear them or not. You remind me often of the person that I am, despite the definition that I have been led to believe by others. You make me feel beautiful; a feat no one else in my life has ever accomplished. 

What makes you so different? Why do you remember the things I said during drunken conversations 13 years ago? Why do you believe in me in ways no one else ever has? Why are you able to see the side of me that I try so hard to show others, without success? Most of all, unlike every other person, why have you not yet abandoned me? You are the voice in the back of my head that makes me push forward on days when I'm ready to give up. The insurmountable joy I feel when you tell me you are proud of me encourages me to be strong when I feel weak. I know that I do not fulfill any of the same needs in your life, partly because we do not share the same voids, but I like to think one day there will be some way that I can be there for you as much as you have been for me. I don't know what I did to deserve to have such a gracious and loving person in my life, and I'm not always sure that I have earned it, but I am forever grateful. 

I know you believe that you understand all the ways that I think but knowing the full extent of how much you mean to me may be the one rare thought that you will never truly be able to grasp. 

Forever and always, thank you.

Monotony

Do you ever get to a point when reading a book where you decide to just skip ahead a few pages... pages it seems like the author should have just left out all together? One moment things are exploding and bad guys are being chased and amazing earth shattering sex is occurring... and then suddenly the author is describing the view of the sunset and the taste of steaming coffee on the balcony on a blustery winter Tuesday. "Get to the good stuff!" you yell, as you toss the book aside, bored by the monotony. 

I feel like that is where I am in my life. My days come and go, with narrative about the happenings around me and nothing more. I wake and admire the sounds of the birds and the scampering of the bunnies on my morning jog.. I go to work and complain about the annoying tendencies of coworkers and the moaning sound of the coffee maker... I sit on my couch and watch the hummingbirds feed in the evenings while I eat frozen dinners in my underwear. The world is spinning around me but my life feels as if it has halted. Perhaps I've seen too many movies or have a distorted view of reality but it seems that this is the point in my existence where love should happen; life should happen. 

Why cant I be that girl that answers a wrong-number phone call, only to end up chatting up the stranger on the other line and falling head over heels? When will it be my turn to turn the corner and ram my buggy into a cute and eligible bachelor in the cookie aisle of the grocery store? If nothing else, I feel like this is the part of the story where I should have committed a heinous crime and am contemplating where to run to and what to name myself. None of that is happening. After spending over a decade of my life with someone with whom reality television and chicken fingers was our greatest common denominator, I am ready for the life I deserve. I should be having drinks after work at a rooftop bar or gathering around the grill on the weekend with the love of my life and all of our friends. I want to be the cute couple that rents a beach house with our other pairs of acquaintances and gets together for doggy play-dates at the local park. 

It feels as if once the scene is set for something exciting and interesting to happen, the author starts scribbling out words and eventually balls up the page, tossing it into the nearby wastebasket. While I understand the need for character and theme development, which are imperative to a good story, I cant help but to yell "Get to the good stuff!" with every passing day.