No, it;s not my birthday, but it;s coming up later in the week and I've been thinking about it a lot.
Honestly, I never thought I'd get this far. I was sure I'd die somewhere in my thirties, either from suicide or depspair. But now I'm coming up on 45. I have a lot of people to thank for that, not least my husband and my current therapist. But I don't really know what it means.
I guess it means I'm middle aged--my family is long lived and ninety or more is not unusual. But I don't feel middle aged. If anything, I feel younger and happier than ever--if you discount the recent "Mixed State" affairs. I think I look better, I wear bettter clothes. Sure, my hair is going grey but that's nothing a little dye every month or so can;t fix.
Still, there are things I want from life that I haven't been able to get. A steady mood that allows me to work. Steady income from some source; I don;t care where. I'd like the aches and pains of middle age to miraculously vanish overnight. I'd like my weight to come down to a managable level and stay that way without my having to watch it all the time. I'd like to quit smoking but that doesn;t seem to be in my near future with all the stresses of my mental condition riding me all the time. Most of all, I'd like to have a book published by someone who would pay ME.
I'd like to be able to work without pain. I'd like to be able to leave the house--or even think about leaving the house--without having an anxiety attack. I'd like a relationship with my family -- like that's going to happen.
Still, I'm alive and I guess anything is possible while that remains the case. Like the story says, the horse might learn to sing....