Sunday, August 09, 2009

Dark Night

I've known this was coming for several weeks.

I've just not really had a moment to myself for all of my passing thoughts on the subject to finally catch up with me all at once. I'd find white hairs on my head and stare at them for a couple minutes in the bathroom, feeling what that means. I'd think about it a little here and there. I even tried to talk about it to a couple people but I couldn't find a way to get across how serious this is. Yeah, everybody goes through it. That doesn't make it any less painful, and I have to go through it - like I go through everything else - alone.

I didn't even flinch when I turned thirty. I don't know why, but at the time I was able to see it as just another birthday, and still believed age had no meaning. Thirty isn't old, after all. It never has been except to really vain people. Why is thirty-five different for me? It's not just the white hairs I've only recently spied.

I had goals I was supposed to meet by thirty-five. It has been a magic number for me for years. I don't really know why I chose thirty-five, but I did. I told myself it was more than enough time to get those things done. By the time I was 35, I was supposed to look like I did when I was 25 - thinner, with my long hair grown back. I did manage to grow my hair long again before I put the dreadlocks in a year and a half ago. But the weight is still there. I'm sicker than ever, so sick it is literally impossible for me to lose weight and get in shape.

By 35, people are supposed to be grown up. They are supposed to have a life. Granted, a big part of me never expected to live this long, considering I spent most my life thinking about ending it. So I never planned for being an adult. I never made a long-term plan and stuck with it like normal people do. I never thought about how to grow a career or a family. I never even felt like I really wanted either of those things, and I still don't. But I see lots of 35 year olds and they are adults. They are professional people, responsible for themselves and others, they've built up lives over the years, lives that they don't seem to worry about not being able to live up to, maintain. They unquestioningly believe they deserve these lives, and they do. Why did I turn out so differently? Why am I still so un-grown-up, unprofessional, unhitched? Well, I guess I already answered that in this paragraph. It's a real paradox how much I've grown over the years, but never grew UP like everyone else did.

I know I did what I had to do to survive. I know it is not my fault, and it could not have been any other way. That doesn't help right now. I'm trying very hard not to think that the life I could have had was stolen from me. It won't help me to get angry about it right now.

Single women over thirty-five. Nobody wants them. If they try to get someone to want them, they get called "cougars" and laughed at, as if being an unattached woman wasn't pathetic enough. Not only am I going to be a single woman over 35, but I'm going to be one that is overweight, and chronically ill. Nobody is going to want me ever again. That is very hard to be okay with.

And unless I start playing the lottery and win it, I'm never going to recover from this illness. Or they'll find a way to cure us when I'm 80 and 80% dead. And really, that is unnecessary, because there are things out there that might help me, but I have no way of knowing, and no way of paying. I can't even get my doctor to investigate anything. All I can do is try my best to manage and cope and pray that I don't get worse, because I've no one to take care of me. If I get worse, I would end up in a nursing home or something. I don't even know if I'd be able to go to one of those even. I may just end up wasting away in my tiny apartment, unable to move.

So I am now contemplating that the remainder of my life may be spend exactly like it has been spent for the past year or two, never leaving this tiny room, never being loved. It is a very likely possibility. And I never believed that before now. I always thought something would change, something would come along that would make a big difference in my circumstances. Now I think the only thing that can happen is that things get worse for me. My mom dies and I have no lifeline, no safety net anymore. I run out of money, I don't eat.

I am mostly powerless to do anything about it. I've committed to volunteering for WAMCARE, and that excludes the possibility of doing anything to make money. Because all the energy I have goes directly to that endeavor. Not that I want to quit, but it does prevent me from having any other kind of project in my life. I used to believe that karma would take care of me. That if I just kept trying to be a good person, eventually I would get what a good person deserves. Which I thought was love and basic necessities and a little extra for comfort. I'm not that naiive anymore.

Look, I'm not giving up. It's just not in my nature to give up. But I can have my misery right now. I earned it.


I sometimes write things that I don't really mean or believe. These are not to be taken literally, nor as definitive statements about me or my beliefs. Thoughts and emotions are transient, and I reserve the right to change my mind, generalize, exaggerate, give strong opinions, or write other possibly offensive statements. I don't lie, but I may say something that's not true to check whether I believe it or not, or to make a point. Call it creative license. This is my blog, and do have the right to say what I want. I'm using it in creatively therapeutic ways. Whatever the reader may think of me and my words, please believe that my core intentions are always good and I never willingly hurt anyone.