First you take your life. Edit out all the boring bits where you sat around watching re-runs of Big Brother. Then you edit out all the bits where everything went as planned, all the times you got your way, all the stories delivered to glazed over expressions.
Then you isolate all the times something went horribly horribly wrong. All the times you cried your eyes out, ached, felt totally alone. You remember how it felt when your family fell apart, when your heart was broken, when someone special died. You collect all those feelings and analyze them. Categorize them. Remember them.
Next you think of some stories. Forget the emotions. You just want the ones that have nice climactic endings, or interesting twists, or maybe some that trail off half way through. If you don’t have your own stories, or are scared of them, you can always borrow someone else’s. Or stick a few different stories together with some tape. No one will notice.
Last, you play matchmaker. Remember that time your boyfriend died and you fell into a tiny pile of shaking tears? Remember how your body went rigid and you thought you would never breathe again? Remember that calm that overcame you? You can’t buy feelings like that. And remember that time you sank yourself into a hot bath and watched blood pour? Pity your mind was empty. Pity you forgot to feel anything.
Damn being numb.
Some elective surgery will do the trick.
A needle and thread,
Sewing it all together like a patchwork quilt.
Fool them all.
They’ll never notice.