Stuck in a Suburban Prison

Stuck in a suburban prison, men go to work, women stay home. Now in the days of facebook and Twitter, there is a chance to connect with the world like never before. But is it really connecting? Can a social networking site be a suitable substitute for true human interaction? If I am upset, with a few key strokes the world can know about it. Nobody is a mystery anymore. You either spout out your feelings and every thought like a fountain or you put what you think everyone would find acceptable. You try to seem charming or witty, even if you are full of pain and disappointment. In a way, it takes the fun out of faking it. You don’t need to keep a smile on your face while in the company of others. Now, you can sit around in your sweatpants, eyes red and swollen with tears, but write in your status line “Wonderful day today, did some gardening. Now for a lovely time with my husband.” Why do you write that? Is it so others will believe it or for yourself. The need to get others to believe that you are normal, is only to convince yourself, that you are. I am not. I am not extraordinary, but I am not normal. I feel intensely. When I am sad, I pour tears. When I am happy, I laugh until my belly aches. When I love someone, my heart feels like it is going to explode. I never really got what it meant to be “well-adjusted.” Does that mean there is a void of a feeling? Or you can only feel prescribed amounts of certain emotions? Is frustration and disappointment acceptable emotions? Do I always have to smile? Do I have to hide my pain or disgust? When thoughts are conveyed electronically, do they lose meaning? When I am angry at my lover, I adjust my emoticon to the little red face with stern eyebrows and a toothy grimace. When I am sad I put the yellow face with the frown. But that is not how I am really feeling. When I am heartbroken, I am sad. The little circle with a frown does not contain a fragment of what I am feeling. When I realized that my husband did not want me anymore, L - didn’t cut it. I was more than just L I was angry, desperate, confused and sick. My stomach felt like a machete was thrust up into it, and I felt like my sobs were spilling the blood. My eyes did more than sit as two dots perched upon a frown. They welled up with tears overflowed onto my pillow, until I my eyes were so swollen I couldn’t open them. And when all my energy was spent on heaving and sobbing, I would eventually fall asleep. Only to wake the next day with the same swollen eyes, and to realize that the machete, was still there. Waking up is the worst. You have a dream that you are actually with him, and he loves you still. Then you wake to find a cold bed.
Emoticons do not show how we feel when we are hopeful. That somewhere beyond that pit in your stomach where the despair finds its home is a place where we dream. A place you dare to reach into and pull up fantasies and desires. Even though you may not feel the happiness now, you know it’s attainable. You just know you have to work for it.