People always make statements like: Happiness is a choice. I say that your environment and family can determine the kind of future you’ll have.
My name is Zoey and there are three fun facts about me. Sad facts if you really think about it. One, I hate my family. Two, I hate my life. Three, I am married to the best man in the world.
Oh, it seems like the first and last facts are opposing each other. I should make myself clearer. When I say that I hate my family, I am referring to the family that birthed and raised me: my parents. I wasn’t asked to be born, so when they decided to birth me, they should have taken responsibility for me. Yet, here we are: an individual broken into fragments that cannot be pieced together.
All you need to know about my family is that when I was 13-year-old, my dad had an accident while working on a construction site. He fell off a building and fell out of life. My mum did not have a life outside him and became miserable. If you ask me, I will say that she died with him on the 21st of June, 2000. You can guess how we started to fare afterwards.
Somehow, life decided to be kind to me and gifted me the best human in the world as a partner. Everyday, I think about what my broken self did in my previous life to deserve a genuinely kind person. As kind as my husband is, he has not been able to love me into loving myself and reciprocating his love a hundred percent.
I am 38-year-old today, and I am going to die in a few minutes. Living a life of constantly immersing myself in dark thoughts has become a vicious cycle. I experience joy only when I am actively watching a movie, when I am immersed in the misery or joy of others.
How can I know what true joy is when I constantly lie to everyone and myself that I am not dysfunctional, when I am trying to prove to myself and others that I can mother a child, when I am trying to save myself, love myself and deal with the pressure of tolerating others.
What is the point of life when I can’t make anyone happy? Even when a person is great, he can only take so much. My husband now spends his time working himself to the bones, comes back home to eat and sleep. I have become more than a failure, I have become a burden to him. He will never say it to my face, but that’s what I have become.
Something else I have become is a heavy drinker, drinking my life away. This started after the first round of IVF failed in my search for developing a mother’s love. The doctors have also said that I have depression, and have given me anti-depressants. Sometimes, I take it with water, other times alcohol, and other times I leave them on the fridge, staring at them blankly.
There is no point living just to be an additional mouth to feed without giving him something in return, be it support, financial assistance, or a child at best. There is no point seeing him sigh in frustration at the genesis of his misfortune. He has never referred to me as that, or insinuated it, I did.
Zoey’s Resolve
I cannot bring myself to do something as drastic as dying by hanging myself or jumping in front of a coming trailer, my life is not a movie where dying these ways looks so easy. Instead, my death will be easy. I will make do with over dosage. With pains, I will die slowly. I will see my life flash before my eyes, and slowly, as quick as my existence came 34 years and 5 months ago, my demise will suddenly happen. My eyes will end up shutting forever.
My husband will come home, and after some minutes realize that I am dead. He will mourn me for cruelly dying on my birthday and leaving him to remember me on what is supposed to be an ordinarily good day for him, he will blame himself for a while, and then move on. He will love again and have his child. I stand up from the bed of thorns life has laid for me, and my husband becomes happier. A win-win, isn’t it?
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