I was so jealous of Kim Mills in Taken.

She was Bryan Mills’ (Liam Neeson’s) daughter. And he proceeded to pummel a swath through Europe to save her – nothing like that was going to happen to HIS little girl! Obviously, my dad wasn’t like that, and later I thought my husband might be, but now here we are, with a vital part of my suicide plan being “How do I make absolutely sure someone notices that I’m missing?” so that the cat doesn’t starve to death.

I think stories like Joyce Vincent’s are tragic, and in a small inconsequential way mine is too. I’ve tried really hard! I’ve done “all the right things.” I volunteered to organize the lotto pool at work, collected birthdays and put them in the work calendar, scheduled monthly employee lunches, donated to every bunch of flowers or gifts that came around… but has anyone ever remembered my birthday, or seemed to notice me much at all? Nope. All I have are friends on the other side of the country, friends from years ago, successful friends with careers and homes and travelling. And don’t read “friends” as “a lot of friends”, either. You could count them on one hand and have plenty of fingers left to hail a cab. I went to Meetups! I joined clubs! I went to church! I volunteered! It just seems unfair, and sad, that I should be in a position where I have to worry about having my body found promptly.

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