INTRODUCTION

“I don’t think I want to be married anymore,” I told him as he came out of the bedroom, just waking up. And in his completely typical, apathetic nature, asked me why. As I made a list of all the reasons I felt that we should no longer keep up this relationship of essentially roommates who have sex, he nodded along. When I finished, tears in my eyes, and full of hope that, for once, he might fight for me, he told me that he agreed and we began to decide who got what. A week later, I was moved out. What a mature break up, you might think. Maybe to the onlooker, but let me tell you, there was nothing mature, immature, happy, sad, exciting, angry, or frustrating about this break up. At least to him. I felt all of those emotions, all at once. But, that’s exactly why I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t stay with a man, who had such little emotion for anything, continue to dry up my love for everything.

Over the next couple months, I went in search of all the things that I felt might make me happy. I spent thousands of dollars getting my new apartment exactly how I wanted it, getting the iPhone he wouldn’t let me have, the purse we could “never afford,” and going to restaurants that were “too nice.” Then, when it was all over.. meaning I had run out of money, I sat down in my gorgeously furnished apartment, scrolled through Instagram on my new iPhone 8, looked at my beautiful Volkswagen Eos and felt nothing. Somehow I felt worse. How can all of these things bring me zero happiness?

I live in Dallas. I was born and raised here. I have always known that to live here meant you had to have money. Correction, you had to look like you had money. So, after my divorce, I bought things. I bought things in order to keep up with this ridiculous society, filled with people who value you based on what you have, not who you are. I thought, “Well, if I’m ever going to find another man, I have to look like I have it all.” Isn’t that funny? We can be hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt, extremely unhappy, hate our job, and have a drinking problem; but if you drive a Mercedes, have a big house, and all the newest, nicest technology, you must be the happiest person in the world.

A couple months after I left my husband, I rekindled a relationship with a lifelong friend. She came to my apartment, we had some wine, and we went out to eat at a nice restaurant, around my nice neighborhood, in my nice car. She got in my car and said to me, “Wow, I’m so proud of you, you’re doing so well for yourself, you really have your shit together. That’s so great.” While no part of me was angry with her, I felt my ears turning red. Everything about what she just said was what I hated about the society we live in. I look put together, therefore, I must be. I wanted to scream, “I am the unhappiest I’ve ever been!” But, I knew she wouldn’t understand.

To me, the things that I had purchased over the last couple months meant nothing. Had I been robbed the next day, I don’t think I would have cared. They were just things. I had spent my entire life trying to fill this void and live in a way so that I could be accepted by this world, these people, and honestly, even my own family, and none of it brought me happiness.

The next day, I began writing this book.