the more things stay the same, the more i want them to change

Now We Are 40

I am a week away from turning 40. Never in a million years did I expect this life for myself. My teenage self would be shocked. My 20s self would be shocked. In my teens, I wanted the world. In my 20s, I didn't know what I wanted. In my 30s, I wanted a child.

I have the child, finally. And little else. Oh, I have so very much going for me on the surface. I have a home, a loving husband, there is steady income, healthcare, food on the table. We have 2 cars, enough money to feed and clothe and entertain the baby. The baby is happy and healthy and fun and funny and annoying and scary and breathtaking and beautiful and awe inspiring and heartmelting and dumbfounding and confounding and we laugh all the time. But I cry as much as I laugh.

I wonder, would I have kept a handle on my depression, kept it from becoming Post Partum Depression, if there had been more people in my life? I've tried everything I can think of. I joined 2 different mommy groups. I've tried to include the families more. I set up a weekly get together with my sister-in-law.

I just can't get around it - there is no one in my life, not on a regular, daily basis, other than my husband and my baby. I have no Best Friend. I haven't in years. I barely have friends. Most of my communication with the people I care about is over the internet. I have no one that I can call at 3am in an emergency. I have no one that I can call at 2pm with an emergency. I have no one that I can call and just say "I'm crying, can you please come over?"

How do you go about fixing that exactly? I've looked online. That is a joke. If somehow you can get around all the people you have nothing in common with, then around the people who insist "no drama" and "you must be sane", then around the people who don't write you back even though you have a million things in common, THEN how do you write something not completely needy and desperate? This is my life: I'm writing to no one on the internet, crying my eyes out as my husband and daughter sleep blissfully upstairs, won't you please be my friend?

How did I get here? Oh, lots of ways actually. People I've distanced myself from, people who have distanced themselves from me. Shyness. Being shy is the hardest obstacle. Fear of being myself around others because I'm so "different" I won't be accepted, so I don't reach out. When the "true" me is this carefully wrapped mess barely hanging together, it's hard to go out in public, let alone be yourself. And when you're not being yourself, it's hard to connect with people.

I'll feel better in a few days. My routine was messed with and I got off my medication. I'm back on now, I just have to wait for it to kick in. The difference in my thoughts is night and day. But being on the medication won't fix my dilemma: I'm still lonely and friendless. The medication just keeps me from spending all day weeping about it.

If I wasn't so lonely, would I stop being so bitter about my childhood? Would I stop resenting my family for not protecting me? Would I stop being so angry at people who insist on being positive? Would I stop resenting other people's success? Would I stop wanting to shout at Christians who are so thankful for their god who gave them such great lives and allowed me to grow up abused?

For as long as I can remember, it's not horror movies that terrify me, it's real life. For the longest time I lived my adult life waiting for the other shoe to drop and I thought I had finally gotten past that. Maybe not. If anything, now that the baby is here, I am more terrified of the randomisity of life.

Today, the thing that I am most angry about is myself. I have found another Proof that the Christian god does not exist: me. If a truly all-loving, all-knowing, and all-powerful God existed, my child would not have been born to me. My child would not have to grow up with a mother suffering from depression. If "God" existed, I would not have have been abused as a child myself, thus creating that depression. "God" allowed my father to be abused as a child, allowed him to grow up and abuse his own children, then allowed me to have a child who will suffer because of the incorrect coping strategies my childhood beat into my subconscious.

Tomorrow will be better. I just have to keep telling myself that.

A few years ago, someone I cared about very deeply said something about me being selfish. I was flabbergasted and affronted. I've had the time to realize that not only was she right, but that I think it's due to the depression. Both having and trying to heal from depression keeps you constantly tuned to yourself. When the depression is at its worst, I spend a lot of my time seeking out anything and everything that will make me feel better, everything else be damned. When I'm on top of my depression, I am constantly analyzing and re-analyzing my inner-monologue to make sure I'm not thinking "crazy thoughts". I spend a LOT of time in my own head.

And now it's late. I was attempting at some sort of cohesiveness here, but my thoughts are just all over the place in a million different directions lately. Comes from not writing when I should. If I write more often, I can write about one topic at a time as it comes to me, instead of going weeks or months and then having to jam all those thoughts into one short session. The problem is, my current weapon of choice against depression is mind numbing it with useless interneting. Writing makes me think just a little too much about my problems. It's so much easier to pretend they're not there and spend my days clicking mindlessly...



Visit my Etsy Shop

About Me

My photo
Seattle, WA, United States
I love beads! Let me make something unique just for you...

The Histories


Reader beware, I make no apologies for speaking the truth, no matter how shocking. So here's a list of taboo you might see here: sexuality, bisexuality, lesbianism, atheism, ex-Catholic ranting, stories of childhood abuse, wacked-out left-wing theories and philosophies, and feminist thought. And I like the words "cunt" and "fuck" a lot.