Saturday, July 24, 2010

Thirty.

I miss my fucking cats. My house is empty without them. Well, it's empty period. Had a yard sale two weeks ago to sell my stuff and took away about $120. A hundred bucks for a lifetime. That's how it feels. All the stuff I didn't sell I just gave away to my friends and family and threw away the rest. Thirty years of accumulated memories in the trash. That pretty much sums up my life.

I don't remember if I've mentioned it in my previous blogs (damn this fish memory of mine), but I've always been convinced I would die before I turned 30. I remember crying to my mom after my son was born and telling her how I felt. Maybe it was a prediction. Maybe it was because all my rocker idols died before they hit 30. I don't know. All I know is I can't even see past that date.

As I was sitting on my living room floor last night, making big piles of stuff into smaller piles of stuff, I thought to myself, maybe this is God's way of me cleaning up so when I die, my family won't have to deal with it all. Whenever I have thought of suicide throughout the years, I can never get past putting all of my items into neat little boxes and setting out my finances so after I die, my family will just have to mourn me, not stress out at all the shit they have to deal with because I died. Morbid, I know. But these thoughts cross my perennially depressed mind.

It's not getting better, by the way. It did for a time, and then it stopped. I stopped taking my morning meds because I was getting more and more anxious. Maybe that's why I feel this way now. I can't tell what is better: being sad and stressed and miserable, or being anxious and stressed and miserable. My emergency Xanax bottle is almost empty. It was full a few months ago. I wouldn't mind if I was slightly under the "happy" line, you know? I just want some consistency with my moods. And not shitty depressed all the time. I don't know what happiness feels like. My husband tells me last night, "I was going through pictures of when we first got together and you were so happy. There was light in your eyes. I don't see that light anymore". Really? You don't think I fucking know that? The worst possible thing to feel, other than your own misery, is making others miserable just having you around.

My family wants to throw a farewell/birthday party for me. I don't want one. At all. My sister and mother met me at a busy restaurant to go over the guest list and planning, and I almost left. The stress is too much. They also want to go to the airport when my husband and I leave for Australia. I'd much rather take a cab. I can't deal with the sadness and stress of leaving my country, my family, my friends, my life topped with the fear and anxiety of boarding a plane for thirteen hours. No one gets it. I am fucking bipolar. This is me. I can't imagine changing anymore. I am getting unhappier and unhappier as the days go by.

If I have to think really hard at happiness, maybe the pure movement of moving, the getting rid of all my possessions, leaving everything I know, maybe this is the "death" I have always thought of. Maybe landing in Australia three weeks before my thirtieth birthday is the new beginning. Maybe I was always supposed to be there. I do believe in fate. I think of jobs I've passed up for a riskier one, and the first job went out of business. I think of people I met by chance that ended up making me who I am today. Or hell, maybe I'll die in a plane crash. That seems fitting.

2 comments:

spyder said...

Don't think of it as "my life was only worth $100" - most of the trinkets you had may lack monetary value, but that doesn't make them worthless. Life is more than a handful of paper that someone arbitrarily gave value to.


Picking up what you can carry and moving across the globe would scare, frighten and generally terrify any normal person. I can't imagine what you're going through after adding bipolar into the mix, although these posts do provide a little bit of insight.

Actually as the post opened and I saw where it was headed, the first thing I thought of was where you ended it - maybe you were always destined to do this and while it's a morbid way to put it, "death before thirty" referred not to your physical life ending, just life as you know it ending.

I'm positive you will love Australia, and you can be too - you just have to trust us to be right on this one. Aside from the fact that it's an awesome country, the people here will amaze you and support you (even if you don't want it) while you find your feet. Accept their gifts, find your feet and then spread your wings to find your place here. The happiness *we* get from knowing we helped you do it is often repayment enough.


Oh, and one more piece of advice - even if you do end up cancelling the party, don't deny your family the airport goodbye. You might not see the point now, but if it was me I'd regret it later.

Relax, take care, and remember that you always have friends to turn to no matter how bad it gets. See you in Brisbane :)

Anonymous said...

Check check check
One two

Spitting in a wishing well
Blown to hell crash
I'm the last splash

I know you little libertine
I know you're a real coocoo

Want you coocoo cannonball
Want you coocoo cannonball
In the shade, in the shade
In the shade, in the shade

I know you little libertine
I know you're a cannonball

I'll be your whatever you want
The bong in this reggae song

In the shade, in the shade
Want you coocoo cannonball
Want you coocoo cannonball

Spitting in a wishing well
Blown to hell
Crash
I'm the last splash

I'll be your whatever you want
The bong in this reggae song

Want you coocoo cannonball
Want you coocoo cannonball
In the shade, in the shade
In the shade, in the shade

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