On Turning 35

There’s something about birthdays that make people intraspective. To be honest, I would have completely forgotten my birthday this year if someone else hadn’t reminded me a few weeks ago.

O.K. That’s not completely true. My parents three cards and my mother’s call to let me know that UPS had my packages would have been a tip-off that I was turning another year older, but I would have forgotten it was one of those “milestone” birthdays had someone else not pointed it out and I guess a milestone birthday deserves some intraspection and attention.

Most of the time I have to think when someone asks me how old I am and then I’m kind of surprised at the answer. For some reason, after thirty, I kind of stopped keeping a close count like maybe that big surprise party those dysfunctional friends threw signified an end of an era and thus the end of important age counting as I knew it. After all, there’s a big difference between four and four and a half but who cares if you’re 33 or 34 years old? Well, maybe the health insurance company and their mysterious formulas, but other than that, who cares?

The truth is that I’m not one of those big birthday partiers who spends a big night on the town — I’m sure that comes as a big surprise to anyone who’s read anything I’ve written. Oh, I was when I was little. I’ve seen the pictures. Little girls and boys in cute little clothes with theme hats and party favors running and playing with balloons in a lush green backyard — yes, I have played outside before. I think there might have been a pinata and pin-the-tale-on-the-donkey too. God, I was a cute little kid.

Everyone at my fifth birthday came down with the chicken pox, by the way. I have a very vivid memory of my mother telling another little girl’s mother that she was sure the other little girl wasn’t contagious and to send her on over.

Oh, sure, there were more parties, but I do kind of think that sets the scene for a lifetime pattern.

Anyway, back to turning 35…

When I was twelve, I thought that by thirty-five, I’d be married, probably to Simon leBon or John Taylor with a lot of kids and we’d be living in England with the nanny and the kids and I’d be a well-known author and our lives would be perfect. I couldn’t really see beyond that. Thirty-five was pretty old to me then. I mean God! Thirty-five was old!

When I was eighteen, I was hoping that I’d meet the man of my dreams in college and we’d get married after college and have kids around the time we were thirty. I never even thought about after that. There was nothing beyond thirty. It didn’t matter because we’d have our perfect lives by then and that was all that mattered.
By my mid-twenties, my depression was in full swing and my cousin had committed suicide, something that has haunted me off and on over the years. To this day, I wish I understood what was going on in his mind. Perhaps if I did, perhaps I could understand myself, help myself, save myself. Though in many ways, his suicide has saved me all these years, because I’ve already seen what it would do to the family and I won’t do it to them again.

In my late twenties, I had a very optimistic breakthrough where I actually thought I might get married but in the end, I knew it wasn’t right for me. It’s worked out well for him as he has a very lovely wife now. But for that brief time I had some hope of a future but then reality set in and I realized what life would be like day in and day out for both of us. It’s hard enough for a depressive to live with herself everyday; it’s certainly not fair for someone else to have to do that as well. (And in the end I also realized that I loved him but I wasn’t “in love with him” whatever the hell that means. By the way, I still love him. He’s my frist and only real love.)

That’s about when I realized that I could barely take care of my own self let alone some other dependent small person.  The cats at least stand a chance at fending for themselves, but a small person could easily come to great harm if left to my care for longer than a few hours.  I mean, let’s face it — children terrify me and they require clean, safe living areas and someone who remembers to go to the grocery store and doesn’t put it off just one more day because a tablespoon of peanut butter is just as viable an option for dinner.

It’s also about that time that I began to wonder if I would make it past 35. I had health issues among other things and quite frankly I just have never pictured my life really beyond 35. Trips to the ER, countless visits to Radiology, a long list of doctor — it went on and on. I just felt that I was one of those doomed to die young types. I’m not sure why I picked the number “35,” but 35 was the deadline. I was going to have a heart-attack or something by the time I was 35. Something was going to happen.

Imagine my surprise when it was pointed out a few weeks ago that I was turning this milestone 35. I’d made it miraculously.

And to be honest, I don’t really know what to do with myself as this milestone passes because I guess I’m a little surprised to be here.

I know that I never expected to be this person I am today — single, childless, independent, opinionated, liberal, openminded, geeky, quirky,depressive, cat-loving, political talking, country-music listening, computer programing, slobby, anxiety-ridden, shut-in. I certainly never thought I would have been one to pack up my life and move 1700 miles from everything and everyone I knew to start over. I wonder who I might have been had things been different, though I don’t know what might have been different or what I would have changed — though I think I might have liked to have skipped the chicken pox and I think I would have liked to have had better luck with love early on but o.k., things happen for a reason, right?

So, I’ve been thinking that with this looming milestone, there are some things that maybe I’d like to work on for the next milestone birthday. That gives me, what? Five years?

Is five years enough time to train the cats to clean their own litter pans and fetch me sodas from the fridge?

Tags: Me, birthday, suicide, depression

Life Going On

So, the good news is that PW does not have breast cancer. Talk about breathing a sigh of relief. She was so relieved that she didn’t mind at all that the x-rays showed she has a kidney stone, which explains the pain in her side. :crazy:

I’m glad she’s o.k.

###So, I can’t recall if I mentioned it. I saw the doctor last week. The flu/cold I had cleared up immediately after I made the appointment, of course. However, I had to go in for a Depo shot and med check anyway and I wanted to talk to her about some issues I’ve been having with my GI tract — painfully bloaty and gassy with weeks of constipation rotating in and out. Ug.

Well, first off, I walked the mile to the appointment and my blood pressure was only 110/72! She said that if I lose some more weight (I’ve only lost 5 lbs since January 16th) and keep my blood pressure down, I maybe can come of the BP med in June. Good news there.

Plus, I talked to her about cutting back on the ambien. I now don’t take it every night but only as needed like the night after a bad night. Less pills is always good.

Unfortunately, after a discussion with the shrink and the GP, it was decided to double my prosac for the time being. The GP thinks I may suffer from that seasonal disorder and wants to try cutting the prosac back again in June and then look into light therapy next Winter. Honestly, maybe that whole sun thing is a factor. I know I hate driving home in the dark. It just feels so wearing and this last month with the snow storms in March, I’ve been tired of the weather and really ready for Spring or mud season as they call it.

So, for now, I need to keep watching my food and start trying to get some exercise in and try to find ways to meet people and hopefully get through my annual review on Wed. :crazy:

###My 34th birthday was something of a non-event. I got flowers from my parents on Friday as well as birthday cards from them and one grandmother. (Oh, and two e-cards from online friends and acquaintenances.) However, that’s all I got. I didn’t go anywhere or do anything different. It was kind of sad really.

I mean, I’m not much of a birthday person, but it was kind of a precursor to my life once my parents and grandparents pass on. It was a little lonely, I admit. I felt forgotten really, though two ex-boyfriends emailed me. None of my “good” friends recognized or remembered the day. PW had called me earlier in the week on the wrong day to wish me a happy one so I guess she’s excused. Still a part of me hoped for something more. It’s really a reminder that everyone is moving on with their lives and I’m so far away that I need to let go and work harder to make new friends.

Heck, I’m so lonely, I even discussed dating in therapy. I’ve given up on dating really. I can’t find anyone who is independent and has a life of their own and yet wants to share moments with me. Everyone I’ve dated seems to need that constant attention/companionship thing that sends me running for my independence.

It’s really silly to be thinking about it. If I can’t meet new friends, where am I going to meet people to date?

Tags: breast cancer, Depo Provera, blood pressure, Prozac, birthday

Happy Pre-Birthday!

PW called me last night to wish me a Happy Birthday. I think it’s funny because after over 10 years, she still gets my birthday mixed up with my mom’s. Mine isn’t until Sunday. Anyway, it made me laugh and gave me a chance to gossip.

Apparently, her Upper GI came back showing nothing wrong — no acid reflux, etc. Still she’s having chest pains and pains on her left side. Plus, the doctor found a small lump in her left breast which he thinks is probably a cyst but he’s sending her in for a mamo and a chest x-ray today and a blood test for diabetes at her request within the next week or so. The chest x-ray is too look at her heart. She is extremely freaked out and I tried to be a good friend and tell her everything’s going to be fine, but of course, she has every right to be concerned.

However, she has a great doctor. I should know; he was mine and I recommended him to her. You hear so many stories about doctors who write off the possiblity of breast cancer in young women PW’s age and then when the cancer is found, it’s too late. A sign of a good doctor is when he takes it serious enough to double check everything. Plus, he’s very patient and will generally humor you if you think you may have some horrible disease. Can’t tell you how many blood tests and EKGs and x-rays he did on my request. :crazy:

She also told me that Meg is apparently ill. She has cellulitus or something which is some sort of skin infection and then had allergic reactions to the antibiotics, which I thought was strange because it seems to me that she had an allergic reaction to antibiotics a few years ago which should have alerted her that they were bad things. I should think about sending a card, I guess.

She also said that Meg apparently now has her own cases and is working as a lawyer and that Peter is no longer the law librarian at his firm but is doing something else but still not doing lawyer-y stuff. I really wonder how he feels about that. He’s so competitive and Meg passed the bar the first time and he didn’t until the third time and she is working as a lawyer and he isn’t. Plus, from what I hear, she is making way more money than he is. I just can’t imagine that sits well with him because he always struck me as having a little of that man-is-the-bread-winner-attitude. *shrug*

PW also said that Peter’s been doing lots with her and that he volunteered to help her move a bed that she bought from Meg’s parents who are apparently selling their bed and breakfast or converting it to condos or something. I must admit I was surprised that he offered to help, but there are definitely changes going on in the dynamics of that group.

It’s just so strange that after all these years, the only one who really keeps in contact with me and that I keep in contact with is PW even after those big blow-outs and all those mean things said. She told me the other day that even in the years that we didn’t speak at all, she always thought of me as a friend. And the truth is that as hurt as I was, I would still have shown up if she needed someone…but I guess I kind of proved that, didn’t I?

Anyway, English will be back in the States a week from Friday to spend Easter with PW and she is planning on going to see him in June. She’s so cute about the whole thing. She really seems to want me to like him. Possibly this is because I didn’t like Manchild when they started dating and told her that it wouldn’t work out, which was rather prophetic, I guess. I’ve been wrong before. Anyway, I just want her to be happy and if he makes her happy and has her best interests at heart, then I’m happy for her.

It’s interesting that after Manchild left her, she told me that she’d decided she didn’t think she wanted to have kids anymore but now that English is in the picture, she’s afraid if she has cancer, chemo will ruin her chances of having a kid. I predict she’ll be moving to England in a year. :satisfied:

Tags: birthday, breast cancer