THE LITTLE HOUSE THAT MADE ME CRY
I went out for a walk earlier this evening, as I sometimes do when I get cabin fever in my tiny shoebox apartment and I have nothing else I feel like doing. I figure I can eiter sit inside and do nothing, or I can walk around the block and still do nothing. But at least if I'm walking around the block I can burn some calories.

And when I walked around the block I saw it. A little house. With a "for sale" sign pitched in the front. And I started thinking about how nice it would be to own a little house in this area, right on my block so that I could still walk to all the things I can walk to. And not have to put up with my creepy landlord or my inconsiderate neighbors.

And then I started thinking that I can't possibly be in my right mind if I think I can afford a mortgage, utility bills, and property taxes. And that's what made me cry. Knowing I'll never be able to afford my own place. Knowing that I'll never have a man in my life who could live there with me and be my love and help me pay for it and take care of it. Knowing that I'll always be a loser. And that's what made me cry.

Then I started thinking about my sister. You know, the one who got the career, the car, the husband, the house, and the kid--all by the age of 30. And then there's me, who at 37 has none of those things and probably never will.

And then I started thinking about perspective. In the eyes of my so-called "family", I am a total loser. I'm not married, I have no kids, I pay a staggering amount of money to live in a shoebox each month, and I'll probably never own a home or a car. And I've got 2 college degrees rotting away while I work at a job that is so far beneath me intellectually that it's not even funny. On the other hand, in the eyes of some of my contemporaries, I've got it pretty good. I've got an apartment where the rent is dirt cheap by NYC standards, I've got a secure job with health insurance, and I have no car payments. And I'm free to do as I please.

And what do you see in your own eyes? I see a person who's just getting by doing the best she can. Nothing to be ashamed of, but nothing to be proud of either.

The way I see it, life is a race and death is the finish line. You can walk it, jog it, or flat-out sprint. Whatever works for you. Suicide is cheating--like taking a cab to the finish line. And every day I lay my head down on the pillow and go to sleep means I'm one step closer to the finish line. That's it. I'm in no hurry to finish, because I have nothing to look forward to in life. (What? Old age? Poverty? Those aren't things to look forward to.)

I put up with all the bullshit at my p-doc's office so I can get the damn meds. I take the damn meds so I can come in to work and pretend to be normal for 8 hours a day. And the only reason I bother to work is so I can keep a roof over my head and food in my belly. That's it. Nothing more.

I'm sorry to sound like a broken record, but I wish I knew why I was alive. I don't matter to anyone. No one depends on me. If I had some purpose in life maybe it would all make sense. But I don't and it doesn't.

I guess the one positive I have is that maybe my life will end sooner than I thought it would. I had a doctor's appt at the beginning of July. (Regular doc, not p-doc.) For 2 weeks prior to the appointment I actually tried to take care of myself. I cut out the ice cream, I bought a pedometer. I actually took time out to exercise and tried to eat healthy.

When I was at the doc I had blood work done. I got the little result card in the mail last week. My cholesterol actually went UP! It's now 230-something. As was my weight.

By now my weight is down to 225. And I completely give up on trying to be healthy. I went to the grocery store & bought 2 boxes of doughnuts (they were on sale 2 for $5 & I had a $1-off-2 coupon). I've eaten 2 doughnuts so far. I also bought a pint of Ben & Jerry's (Chocolate Almond Nougat, yum!) and a half-gallon of Breyer's (chocolate Twix bar, haven't opened it yet). I figure if I drop dead of a heart attack it could be the best thing that ever happened to me. At least I won't have to go through life being ashamed of what a failure I am. I won't have to go through life at all. No more worries, no more pain, no more crying, no more loneliness. No more annoying-as-fuck people to put up with. No more debt. No more fear. No more failure. No more anything.

I went to a concert last week. There was a guy in the audience I recognized. An actor/singer/writer/toomanyotherthingstomention. I'd never met him before, but I'd seen some of his work. After the concert I approached him, introduced myself, & complimented him on a recent project. He reached out & shook my hand. And for the past week I haven't been able to stop thinking about the touch of his hand, because apart from that, I can't remember the last time any human being provided me with any kind of human contact. (Doc's exams don't count.)
- posted by Pat @ 9:52 PM