text: I’m going to ask you a question. I’ve asked it before. “Are you happy?” No, you scoff at me, with that look in your eye, that tone in your voice. The one calling me an idiot without saying those words. How could I ask such a stupid question? OF COURSE you’re not happy. Haven’t I been listening? Work stresses you out. You hate the way you look. You hate your body. No one likes you. You hate it when I ask questions with obvious answers. When you get hurt and I ask, “are you okay?” No, you snap at me, with that look in your eye, that tone in your voice. OF COURSE you’re not okay. I’d sigh. I know you aren’t okay. I’m NOT an idiot. I’m just trying to show concern, to show you that I care. So, I’ve tried to work on that. Instead of “are you happy,” I ask, “what do you need? What will cheer you up? What can I do?” I don’t know. Nothing. Nothing. So, another wrong choice of words on my part. That’s why, last night, when you were telling me everything that is wrong, everything stressing you out, I didn’t say anything. I don’t know what to say anymore. But that was wrong too. And that counted as a “fight” to you. To me it was just a blip. If something registers to you as a fight, and to me as just more of the same, where does that leave us? I’m getting off topic. Back to my question. Are you happy? No. Obviously not. What will make you happy? What do you need? What can I do? I don’t know. Nothing. Nothing. And so I sign. How to break this cycle? How about this: Does it bother you? That you don’t know. That there’s nothing you need. That there’s nothing I can do. Because it bothers me. Another question. Do you want to be happy? So I used to ask stupid, obvious questions. Working on that. Then I tried to offer helpful suggestions. Work is stressing you out. Have you tried cutting yourself some slack? Have you tried using different techniques? Have you thought about talking to someone? Maybe a therapist can help (because I can’t). No (idiot), that wouldn’t work. No (idiot), I don’t need to see a shrink. In fact, you’re offended that I even suggest that. What, do I think you’re crazy? Okay. You hate the way you look. You hate your body. Your back is in constant pain. I tell you that I like the way you look. I try to be more physical, giving you words and touch of affirmation. And I tell you that you don’t need to be resigned to living a life of chronic pain. It’s not normal. Maybe we should go see a doctor? Maybe we should go to a chiropractor. You tell me you don’t believe me. You tell me you don’t want to be touched. You start to cry hysterically as you tell me you don’t need to go to a doctor, that they won’t do anything. Okay. So then, really think about that question. “Are you happy?” No. Obviously not. Then a follow up: is that a problem? Is that something you want to fix? Do you want to be constantly stressed out, constantly on edge, constantly in pain? And here’s the real kicker. Here’s the big question. The one I really want to ask: Why don’t you ever ask me if I’m happy? Are you afraid of the answer? I think you know it already. And for how much you don’t know how to be happy, I know that this is true too: You don’t know how to be alone. And I know it would break you to have to be.