the edge of glory

Well, let's see. After you decided that I'm depressed or whatever, you'll put me on meds, right? And I know hundreds of people are on them and they're all doing just fine. Really. I'll go back to work on my new anti-depressants, have dinner with my parents, persuade them that I'm back to being the normal one who never gives them any trouble. Then one day some guy will ask me to marry him. He'll be nice enough and it'll make my parents very happy. The first year we'll make love all the time; the second and third, less and less. But just as we're getting sick of each other, I'll get pregnant. Taking care of kids, holding on to jobs, paying mortgages... it'll keep us on an even keel for a while. Then, about ten years into it, he'll have an affair because I'm too busy and I'm too tired. And I'll find out. I'll threaten to kill him, his mistress, myself. We'll get past it. A few years later, he'll have another one, but this time I'm just going to pretend that I don't know because somehow kicking up a fuss doesn't seem worth the trouble this time. And I'll live out the rest of my days, sometimes wishing my kids could have the life that I never had, other times secretly pleased they're turning into repeats of me. I'm fine. Really.