The rings exchanged, the vows uttered, the cake cut. The guests begin to leave, some with fake smiles and obligatory pats on the arm of good luck, others oblivious to what this little day really means, too drunk on free food and booze to care. I say thank you, wish them  on their way, all the while wanting nothing more than to be rid of all these people, alone with the only person in the world that I feel I can be my true self with, having no fear of rejection.

“Let’s get out of here. I’m so ready to go.” It’s not a lie. I really am. I want nothing more than to take off the caked on version of me that everyone wants to see, the blushing bride. Do they realize that yesterday I almost refused to go through with it? Completely fed up with the woman that was once my mother, whose body is now being inhabited by a psycho whose concern of image is frightening. I want him, always wanted him, but never wanted this plastered smile, the one I know they all want to see.

Wasn’t this supposed to be the happiest day of my life? That’s not only what the fairy tales tell me, but also my parents, grandparents, friends, TV, media, etc, etc, etc. Well aren’t I a shit because all I feel is the desire to get on with my life and be rid of the whole charade. I’ve felt like molding clay for the last year, bended and prodded and pushed into the shape everyone wants me to be, the me they think I am or should be.

I remember watching all the Disney classics as a child: Cinderella, The Little Mermaid, Aladdin. All of these beautiful, talented girls wanted nothing more than to snag the man of the dreams, each one having this thing or that stand in their way. And in all these iconic movies, The End pops up conveniently as the decked out couple leaves the church (or sails away on the boat or kisses under the stars, you get the point), as though that’s it! You’ve found your man! Your life’s dreams and goals accomplished.  Good work!!

No wonder I feel so shitty.

I know he’s not like that, the one who was in cohorts with me to cancel this whole thing half way through, completely satisfied to do it our own way, leaving everyone else behind. No, he’s only standing here because I was too chicken to ever stop the process mid-stream. But it’s over now right? We can ride off into the sunset and…

Then what? Ahhh, so that’s where this dread is coming from, this 50 pound weight crushing my ribcage. The part of the story that always got left out and that I always wondered on.

What the hell do I do with my life now?