Two

Most people will tell me I have nothing to complain about, nothing to be unhappy about, that I'm ungrateful and a bitch. I don't care what they see on the outside. I am unhappy on the inside. Everyone rattles on that money can't buy happiness. They say only people with money can believe that, but I've been on both the poor and better off side of that cliche before. And maybe it is true. I consider us middle class, we are certainly not wealthy, but I know we're doing better than our friends and family members. My husband works in a field that has so far been untouched by the spiraling economy. At least my daddy can go to bed every night knowing that his little girl is being taken care of, he just doesn't know she feels like a gigantic black nothing on the inside. But this is my life right now: my husband makes six figures and I don't have to work, I live in a brand new house that is on two acres and is three floors and almost 5500 square feet, my engagement/wedding rings are 2.5 carats and cost $13,000, I drive a brand new SUV while my husband drives a brand new convertible sports car, our vacations every year are to Caribbean islands, I have a closet full of $300 Coach and Dooney & Bourke purses. The husband is a big gambler and we spend weekends at casinos where we get free hotel rooms and food, and we have about $80,000 socked away in the bank right now, cash on hand. My husband buys me anything I want, we go out for $100+ dinners, he sends me to days at the spa, we get suites on cruise ships, we fly to Vegas or Miami or San Juan. We are not in debt, we've never missed a payment on anything, we've never paid a bill late, our vehicles are paid for. We're generous with our money and time and possessions, concerning friends and family and many charities. My husband is well-liked by his buddies, and very well-respected at his business. As far as my husband is concerned nothing is too good for me and his greatest pleasure in life is to see me happy. Only, I'm not the happy little wife that my husband wants, and I'm not the happy little girlfriend he used to know and love. I'm not happy at all, despite all of the wonderful things in my life. If you think I'm bragging, so what, it's all the truth. But the other truths are that I'm extremely overweight, I don't believe in God, I hate my life, I have a physical ailment which keeps me in chronic pain and on constant medication, we've tried but failed to get pregnant so we have no children, and at 40+something, I spend all day alone in this cavernous house and I have no friends and I rarely go out anywhere by myself during the day- unless the chores of grocery shopping count as getting out and about. Anyone reading this will tell me to shut the hell up and get over myself. And logically I know that is true. The husband tells me all the time to pick myself up and go do something, whatever I want, he is not concerned about cost or time or subject. He's suggested everything from volunteer work to taking college classes or art classes or joining the YMCA. He talks to me all the time about reaching out and making friends. But it's hard for me, because I am extremely suspicious and very cynical, and it takes a long time of knowing someone before I would call them a friend. Since we just moved here to this new place a few months ago, he thinks I'm just having trouble adjusting to life, leaving behind the people dearest to me- besides him. What he doesn't understand is that we now live in a tiny, podunk, country town that holds no interest for me. I only moved here because his job required it, and because I'm his dutiful wife, and that's it. And please don't make comments about how I need to find God to fulfill me- that ain't gonna happen.