What is Life

sit on the corner of the couch, no one else is in the house. I appreciate the lack of human contact as I shamefully sit in my gym shorts and robe, laptop in my hands, watching two women explore their bodies together in a rapid and grotesque way. Every few minutes I glance to reassure myself I am on incognito, hearing the whispering cackles of my family if they knew. I don't usually do this, I am not a longing or desiring person sexually at least, my dad refers to me as asexual. And yet here I am. I don't feel dirty, just disappointed.

For the past three weeks I have been getting rejection letter one after the other, and I can't help but let this tear at my brain. I can't technically even go to college, and truthfully have no desire to conform to another system of education that I will most likely fail. But I wanted to be accepted, to be able to have that enriching feeling where I could defend my case against my acquaintances by at least saying I was accepted, that I just turned them down. I no longer have this option.

Like most unfortunate things in my life, they are out of my hands. Truthfully if any normal person reminisced on every detail of their lives, they would most likely kill themselves before they reached the present. I know I would, which is a justified reason not to, I believe.

My brother has had a boyfriend for two years, and half a year ago I married his boyfriend Justin. In those six months, Justin and my brother Steven have run off together, quite romantic. At least that’s what they believe.

They like to send me cheap post cards frequently. To be honest it’s becoming a pet peeve to get in the mail.

Our parents looked at the wedding as a disgrace, which it was, but also a chance to put on an extravagant party to show off their poise and money.

I’m sorry I couldn’t marry a straight man! Well, I could. Hopefully I will. I just turned eighteen, I was still in high school, and Steven needed my help. I love my brother, and at this point I would’ve done anything for him. These past few months have changed my perspective. Yet I remember the night I turned eighteen and Steven came into my room crying, I had never seen him cry before. He was excruciatingly loud, and he just looked plain petrified.

“Justin is in the hospital. He told his dad!” Those we’re the only words he said to me all night. He never moved from my sight, he feel asleep in my lap. My mind was racing with anger and confusion as I held Steven, remembering him as the strongest person I knew. Nothing seemed to faze him, until that moment. I didn’t sleep that night, and I went to Justin’s hospital room that morning at 6am. Maybe I was sleep deprived, maybe it was the joy of skipping school, I still don’t know, but I helped him into a wheelchair and took him to the court. We were married within the afternoon, and I didn’t say much to Justin, because he was so mutilated I didn’t want to look at him. I took him back to the hospital and left a text for my brother.

The wedding was the next month and Justin’s parents came, looking as joyful as they could. They gave me money which I quickly accepted, understanding it isn’t rude to take money from a******s. The celebration was fun, although I barely saw Justin or Steven, who was the best man and the happiest man at the wedding. Weeks after the celebration Justin and Steven ran off together, trashing the whole wedding which was had so they could stay safely and happily in town for awhile. Whatever douchebags.

I dug a hole in Justin’s parent’s backyard one night and buried my wedding dress. I wasn’t sober. Sorry.

I finally close my laptop and put my robe on before going to bed. Maybe I’ll go for a jog tomorrow.