An open letter to the struggling woman in me

To whom it may concern,

I feel like I miss you, however have I ever really met you? If I have met you, have I ever gotten to know you? I don't know..

I know you are a wife, but are you even any good at being one? What do you do to support your husband? You stay at home all day, clean now and then, cook and do some laundry. Meanwhile, he works every night for ten hours most night, sometimes all by himself.
You're happy to see him when he gets home, but does he look at you through bittersweet stares? Does it grind his very existence that he is living with YOUR parents, that he leaves for ten hours every night, and you get to do what you want at home all day?
Is this his resentment?...
Or your insecurity?

I know you have been hurt. Sexually, mentally, emotionally, physically, verbally...
How has that hurt shaped you? Who are you because of this hurt? Where has it brought you to today?
Do you know who you are?

I know you are living with a mental illness, but my question to you is, are you living the life you want, or the life everyone else wants you to have? Are you really happy?...
I'd like to think you are. You seem better as of late than you ever have before, which is a good thing.

But...
There is still something missing. I can't help but to feel it in your... our heart.
What is hurting you? What is holding on so tight?... Slowly, but surely cutting off your air supply as it suffocates you, the same way jamming a million cotton balls down your throat all at once would suffocate you.

It is difficult to pinpoint exactly what is missing in my life, but I know something is.

I try to fill the void with shopping for new makeup, clothes, apartments, town homes, houses, dogs... Donating my time, my money, my life away.

But none of it buys or gives me happiness in anyway shape or form.
What do you want? What do you need?

The biggest problem is...
... I don't know...