When I grew up and found my natural parents, there was of course no gold crown waiting for me. Just a realization that I was the rather ordinary product of a tawdry affair where responsibility for my presence was passed off to a childless married couple desperate for a child of ‘their own’. I was a possession.
Is my happiness worth more than my constructed image, my status and my social position? Because if you want the damn biscuit, you’ll have more chance of getting it, if you just ask.
I never expected to feel inadequate at this stage, nor to have life shove my inadequacy so brutally in my face in a period when I am confronted savagely by my own mortality through illness.
Monogamy is designed to keep couples together by creating barriers of exit; socially; financially and psychologically. One cannot look at the divorce statistics to ascertain how successful it is; this only proves how many couples remain married. Not how many couples remain happily married… Judging by how many marriages now end in divorce since it became more socially acceptable, that’s not many over the long term.
As we watched and took lessons from the hell that is the monogamous struggle for the perfect relationship, the one and only, I threw up. It wasn’t just the hangover… The reminder of the fear, anxiety, and utter shame I had felt for years from living and trying to live up to a monogamous paradigm was brought up quite literally in the form of the pizza I had eaten at 2am the night before.
Fortunately for those of us who aren’t inclined to make the epic effort it requires to wade through the opening pages of Hemingway’s epic piece of literature–as boring as it is wise–you can satisfy your hankering for death and survival in almost every current Richard-and-Judy-stickered novel out there, from Harry Potter to The Lovely Bones.