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The world is full of beautiful people with beautiful problems. It's full of egotistical assholes with large mouths that never stop talking. It's full of thieves, criminals, rapists, and murderers. It is full of beautiful murderers with beautiful problems.

In a way, it's pleasing to know there are other people in this planet like me. People who conquer and stay righteous when it comes to their looks. I'm not crazy. I know that.

I've been having less unusual thoughts lately - crazy thoughts - and I've been more relaxed since his death. I've been sleeping more and better, I've been socializing with my horny forty-year-old neighbors and I've been taking meditation classes.

It's all getting better now. My life is on the right path to ultimate freedom and he no longer controls me. I may still wear makeup and follow a strict facial routine everyday but not as much as last time. I'm loosening up a bit.

This time, I don't have to worry about constantly being young and beautiful. I don't have to worry about a lack of compliments when I'm in public. I don't have to worry about how many pounds I've gained over a few days.

This time, I know that it's quite impossible for me to become ugly. I have great skin and a delightful face. No-one can deny that. I know I'm always going to be that skinny bitch your wife hates. I'm always going to be the small widow in a big, lonesome house.

And, to be completely honest, it's much better than being an insecure wife in an ongoing, non-stop state of insanity living in a big asylum.

For that reason (among many other reasons), I thank God my husband is dead.

Truly.