I think I have always been destined for disappointment.
And, I am the disappointment.
Not the other way around.
I don’t recall effusive praise or even a hey ya. Good job.
No matter when. What.
My brain is wired wrong. I guess. I don’t know.
Mediocre student at best. High test scorer. Maybe good person?
I have wanted to be happy for even an hour, but it’s not to be. Everyone else comes first.
My mother asking me ‘Are you happy?’ after we returned from the honeymoon and my silence.
I feel for my husband. He deserved better.
I’m an open book, but I think the book isn’t the one I would pick.
Failure is not the right word. I just wanted to have some happiness.
Some. Any. One day without sorrow or stress. One.
One Mother’s Day without a $5 bouquet of left-over flowers from WalMart.
Something that says my time here mattered. That what I tried to do counted.
Because I think it is coming to an end.
And, I think the end will be at my own hand.