Deeper secrets of a Desperate Housewife

Alone. Even the word alone is so…. lonely.



My friend, whom in a moment of desperation, I barred my soul to, asked, “How can you be alone when
you have so many people around you all the time?”
How indeed?
Doting husband and affectionate children. Loving and close parents. A sister who is my best friend.
Friends. Co-workers. Pets.
Friendly neighbors and a chatty mailperson.
The same cheerful clerk who knows I take my coffee extra everything with the daily paper.
It would seem my friend is actually right. I guess I’m really not alone.
Then why do I have this ache in my heart? This feeling of separation from everyone around me?
I feel so…trapped. Desperate.
Forcing smiles and attention. Praying no one sees the emptiness I know lurks behind my eyes.
Every now and again, in a wildly calm sort of way, I wonder if perhaps I should just give in to crazy sense of desperation lurking in the dark recess of mind and heart. I wonder if I’m insane. That somewhere along the way, something snapped and a really important part of me shut off or died or…something. I mean, that would then explain the unaccountable feeling of loneliness, right?
Seriously, I have to be a little crazy, because looking at my life; I see no reason to feel so…lost. Sad. Empty. Alone. There’s just no reason that I see.
Perhaps there is. A reason that is. One kept buried deep deep down. A little secret kept hidden, safe, and deep within my soul. A secret I refuse to acknowledge. Because if –and when-I do, my heart will ache even more and the alone I am feeling will expand and suffocate me.
For years now, my secret has strayed into my heart. Every now and then it invades my dreams.
Frantically I look around, hoping for someone-I’ll take anyone-to share my desperate secret with. Keen to relieve this mind numbing, troubled heart, soul wrenching secret.
But there’s no one. NO ONE!!!
I’m too ashamed. A small, reasonable part realizes the ludicrousness of this secret. I think it’s the only sane part left in me. Perhaps, there are a few people I could unload to. All of whom I am quite pretty sure would understand. Possibly even be able to help ease the ache and guilt. But my secret has me embracing the shame. The embarrassment.
Perhaps, if told to a stranger, I could unburden my whole self. Perhaps, in sharing, even if with a stranger, a little of the darkness on my soul would lift.
Perhaps it’s worth a try. Besides, since they won’t know me or any of mine, no one would ever know…right?
I could just turn to the lady sitting behind me on the train. Or the older man reading at the table beside mine at the coffee shop. Or, as I write out the check for weekly groceries, I could casually let it slip to the young cashier.
First a deep breathe, though. Muster the courage. Keeping in mind he/she is a stranger. Deciding to just
come out with it already. Okay. I’m ready. Thoughts of a desperate housewife…unburdened at last…


I long for a different life. I sincerely believe I took the wrong path or perhaps fate has targeted me for a cruel joke.
But I just don’t long…I ache with all my heart. All my soul. My very essence cries out for excitement. Awe. Mystery.
I want to…live! See the world. Visit places I’ve only read about. See relics found centuries ago, that take you back in time.
Taste exotic food. Meet amazing, vastly interesting peoples.
Have a reckless affair. Or two.
In fact, I don’t just want to see the world…I want to touch it, taste it, FEEL it! Put all five senses in overdrive.
I want to be awed by the ancientness of Egypt. Enthralled by the myths of Greece. Revived and embraced by Ireland. Loved and celebrated by Italy. I want Paris to inspire me. Expand my horizons and be dazzled and bombarded with adventures in China, England, and Russia. I wish to be lusted after in Brazil. Worshipped within the Amazon. I want to be as free as the gazelle roaming Africa.
I want to dance with wild abandon at Carnivale! Taste all the chocolate in Sweden.
Wonder at the stark beauty of the North Pole. The simple beauty of rolling planes in America.
Backpack through Europe. RV across the United States. I want to go to Hollywood and meet my favorite celebrates. Rome to meet the pope.
I want to go, do, see, feel, touch, taste…be!


Phew…I’m sure glad that’s all out. Well, almost all out. Here’s the cincher. The part I’ve been stalling to reach. Reluctant, even now, to share. Even though it’s with a perfect stranger. The perfect person to relieve my burden, in that you don’t know me or mine.
It’s a doozy, really. It’s what guarantees a label of Desperate Housewife.

I want to go, do, see, feel, touch and taste the world...without the burden of my husband.
See, I care for my husband, of course. I love him. He's a good man...a great father. But I am not IN LOVE with him...you know?
In fact, I find myself thinking of boys I knew before the whole "I Do" thing. And I find my gaze lingering on sinfully delicious young men and...oh what's the best way to put it...ah! wondering how potentially durable they might be.
I want to seduce a perfect stranger and be seduced in return. I want a hot mailman or gardener. Hell, even a hot mechanic would do.
I want the thrill of the chase again. God! I've missed that.
I want to be...free...<sigh>

And that’s it. All of it.

Do you see where the aching comes from? The feeling of emptiness and loneliness.

Alone…as I once again bury my secret as deep as possible. Thank you though, stranger. It was nice to air it out a bit. To give my soul a little lightening. I’m glad for this meeting. For this chance to unload. And I thank you for listening to a lonely, desperate housewife with a big ole ache on her very heart and soul.