My life is not quite what I had imagined.
For starters, I never thought I’d reach my 30th birthday.
Can you blame me, when events in my life has led me to believe I shouldn’t be alive?
From being born with my umbilical cord wrapped around my neck at birth, to a life threatening diagnosis of Guillain Barre at 21, to a serious car wreck ( I wasn’t wearing my seatbelt and flew through a windscreen, breaking most of the bones in my face and being in a medically induced coma for a month)two years later, to a Transient Ischaemic Attack 6 years ago – I was convinced the universe was trying to kill me and at some point would succeed.
This post may be a bit darker than what you’re used to, but the whole reason I started this blog was so I could get things out of my head and into the world where the harsh glare of strangers could prove them imaginary or,as in my darkest nightmares, well-founded.
I probably need a therapist but I hate any kind of psychobabble that can’t be fixed by a bout of introspection and some Merlot.
So be it.
I wish I could say that I am a well- balanced individual. But alas, its not true. Part of this is because I detest any sort of emotional displays or anything that seems “unseemly”. Emotions make me weak and weakness can be used against you.
Sad thing is, my 40-odd years on the planet has taught me this is true.
I do not even have the luxury of blaming my parents since they did what they knew to do, gave me a very comfortable life and the perspicacity to know myself and others. No, not for me the, “My mother never hugged me !” style outbursts.
What worries me is that the very shrewdness I pride myself in, is becoming more and more cynical as I age.
Things that would have elicited a chuckle a year ago are now barely able to lift a lip in mirth! I find myself forcing the part of me that has to interact with people, into existence. When someone (anyone outside my immediate family) makes a remark about some inconsequentiality, my first, almost unbearable urge, is to tell them to STFU!
I fear that my acidic tongue and natural “standoffishness” is becoming more vituperative as I get older. I find myself putting down inane conversation starters, turning an off the cuff remark into a unjustifiable put down and being more than a bitch, but being really mean!
I don’t quite know how to dilute it, or even just make it go away.
I have seen the memes that pollute SM try to exonerate this behaviour, but I shudder to think that I could be turning into one of those women who would need to be exonerated by a meme on Facebook!
You know the ones I’m talking about:
It’s funny ‘cos it’s true.
I don’t want it to be.
Whatever I’d imagined for myself, this is not it.
I have a marriage that needs work, a fractured family relationship ( I’m really tempted to let sleeping dogs lie with that one!) and a daughter to raise. Especially because I’m raising a daughter.
So, what do I do? I honestly don’t know. I’ve read about the affects of menopause, but according to my GP I’m too young and have a family history of women reaching late and almost imperceptible menopause. Barely a hot flash or moody breakdown to report!
Maybe it’s because ageing make some people cranky? Am I going to be the female version of Clint Eastwood’s character in Grand Torino?
How does Betty White do it?
Damned if I know. I don’t know if I want to go with the flow and just let things happen, or do I try more of the outward smiles/inward screams thing?
Do you ever wonder why you are the way you are? Help a sister out and drop a few hints and tips on how you deal with being in your own head a bit too much.
Until next I blog,