Television connection visible, audible all she can handle.  Seeing beautiful people in beautiful places resolving dramatic conflict in neat clean 48 minute blocks of time.  That world is easy, clean relateable.

Connecting with the alter-hero Walter White, instead of looking for work to pay for the apartment where he left her unable to afford.  It was much easier to dive into fiction rather than deal with reality.

What is this?

The anger pressed down during a relationship filled with she trying to please he.  Her mother had ALWAYS told her that a man must love a woman more than a woman love a man for a long term love to happen.  It’s easy to be wise when you know clearly what you want and your drive to survive is strong.

Her life had been comfortable.  A childhood of “service” created an adulthood of narcissism craving what she had thought she had missed out on being sheltered…yet too afraid to take real risks of authentic connections…she took financial risks.  Daring to fly into the face of the most expensive city on the planet with nothing but a smile and tons of debt.

She unknowingly used her charm and cuteness to pseudo connect to people with connections only to waste the connections because she was ignorant of how the world actually works.  She took and thought she gave but it was not enough. Nothing is for free and friendships and relationships are nothing like they are on TV nobody likes a depressed friend unless they are entertaining.

What is this? Transistion, distraction, interaction… cut to….

Brunches and shopping trips with the girls and dating several superficially handsome men only to find the perfect one does not exist for some.  And the anger grew.  And she knew.  She felt it building up when she settled for whatever superficially handsome man came her way…she listened to the dysfunctional voice telling her it was okay…for her to give and give and give as they took what she did not realize at the time were years that would not grow back…even though they say black don’t crack…you you look young…the body knows.  Each year takes its toll.

The anger ferments deep down as she smiles and pretends to be…okay.  Finding ways to cover to avoid helping others feels comfortable yet she resents their ability to have the basics while she is starving..for authentic love unconditional.  Who will stand for her when no one else will?  The friends?  The friends who say we feel connected to you we are thinking of you from far away but yet she has no one to turn to when she needs a couch to crash on or a mattress to move…she must call taskrabbit and pay for the day.  She must turn to Facebook to connect and reach out.  When the claws of anger begin to shred at soft tissue of her sanity …no one calls.  No one is there.  For a community builder there is no…community.

Is there?  Or is it just her anger telling her there is no community?  I mean who wants to be with someone who takes…and lashes out and goes too deep?

So she seeks out her ex wanting to take a little time from him as revenge, losing the apartment she couldn’t have gotten without him, blaming him, shaming him, regarding him as less than a man.  It felt good for her to vomit out her anger the pain he caused him…for leaving and giving up on what her illusion of what they should have been.

She hung up and felt fucking awesome…for a heartbeat, only to remember that her anger was one of the reasons why he left in the first place and the call justified his view of the crazy woman he thought she could be. She wouldn’t have left.  She wanted to believe in the dream of them too much to be the authenticity brave one.  So he left and she said fuck you and decided to choose anger to get her through.

Anger did not get her through.  It burns her up and makes her turn…to the TV a pretend world where she can see others drama and forget her own…for moments.  Anger makes her hide from her true feelings: fear, loneliness, wasted life, shame, doubt, not being able to connect or fit it.

The comfort of feeling the  discomfort of base anger is that what this is?