The Free Ride

"God how I wish there was something more important in my life

than my marriage."

No words are unheard, they are like ripples in a pond, for even if you didn't see the rock that makes them, you still feel the effect. Saying these words changed her world - and therefore all the world. Words flowing into the universe, unstoppable and free, branding her, never to be undone, a breaking of the seal. Gazing alone through the window of a suburban prison, these wishful words escaped without warning - before she could hide them or unspeak them. But like an erupted volcano, what has come out could never go back in.

She gasped at her heresy, retreating to the overstuffed refuge of her sofa. From her prone position, her eyes moved slowly around the room, inspecting the finery as if she were a stranger in her own house. None of this belongs to me. More heresy - words waiting their time for release. She'd made a passion of collecting luxury, for that is how one makes one more comfortable. Yet the folly of this fool's errand was never more apparent. A little voice whispered, "Nothing ever belongs to you when you don't belong to yourself." And she was pained.

Too many words! Attacking her, shaking the bars of her well-guarded mouth. Was it going to be like this from now on, forever spiraling out of control? "No, no, no, no, never, never, never, no no no!" She must hold back the lava flow before it burned down her house. Why is this happening? Why now after all this time? Don't do this to me. I can't make it on my own.

Dreams are the tenderest of all flowers - which makes them the most beautiful. Growing a dream, nurturing it to life, brings all the world to gaze in wonder and offer praise. "She is of the clouds," they'd declare. "Let no one bring her down." She remembered her own dreams like that, alive and exploding with light - and the words of praise echoed still in her ears. Those were the words she needed, now gone with the wind. But her disrepair was a secret God herself must never know: she held no commitment to the beautiful in her.

The Spinning Wheel of Life spun for her as it must for any living creature, driving her ever forward. But she disconnected it, assuring she'd never be taken any place she didn't want to go. So like a pinwheel in the wind her life did turn, letting the dreams breathe only to stuff the danger back down which brought unbearable despair - causing her to once again breathe life into her dreams. Round and round she went in mad futility, never facing who she was, always fearing her marriage a stolen one.

But how could she reconnect the Wheel of Life now?


I don't know HOW to live, there's nothing left inside me. Who can want me when I have nothing to offer? I made my marriage my life so I'd never have to face life. Oh dear God, how do I get out of this? I have to have something to trade. My looks are gone, I never made anything of myself. I got by on making others happy. Don't tell me I can sell my soul no more!

I can tell this to no one. I have to go on forever being the empty being. Dirty little secrets weigh on me like an addiction. I don't WANT to do anything for me! I just want to go on living for others so I can still feel useful. Everything I do to stay alive is killing me. I'm sick of it - SICK of it!

I used to privately laugh at the problems my friends had in their marriages - I kept mine perfect. I saw them struggling, I saw their tears and fears and high drama. But I took pride in my magic formula: take no stock of yourself, pretend you don't exist and your problems won't exist either. But I do exist, God help me, I do.

I can't kill myself. My sex has dried up. There's no way out. My free ride has cost me everything.