In less than 30 days I will be 30 years old. I have tried to prepare myself for this since the reality of passing time hit me in the face with my 29th birthday. This year didn't go the way I had hoped. It was supposed to be my big bang say goodbye to my youth year. Instead, it was my descent into acquiescent death.
I gave up. I lost the fight with myself and my ailing body. My heart broke twice over as my body struggled with withdrawal from 6 years of Xanax addiction. Now I'm trying to taper off the antidepressants I've eaten for a decade. Next month I'll be a 30 year old who wants nothing but to disappear. I ran my life into the ground, I can't salvage it. Because I don't care enough to bother. My passion is gone. Hope left me the day I spent an hour crying in my shrink's bathroom hoping someone would commit me. When they didn't I came home and cried myself to sleep after screaming and raging through my apartment.
I wasn't depressed last year. Not until after that day when I gave up. I had chronic anxiety and exhaustion, but they still told me I was depressed. Eventually my moods became unstable and my thoughts irrational but not depressed. I tried to tell them that. I wasn't sad all the time, I was hopeful, I didn't hate myself, I wanted to succeeed. But now all that is gone. Now I am depressed. Which disgusts and bores me. This is why I haven't been blogging. I have no interest in anything I have to say. It's all the same: boo hoo, poor me, I hate my life. Disgusting.
What now? I could eat myself fat. But I really can't afford to do that. It does have advantages though, then I could justify giving up on a love life. Wouldn't it be easier to stay home because I know I'm unattractive than it is to stay home because I know I can't get hurt again? Because I can't get over the last one? And because I can't figure out how to fix what's wrong with me? I want to buy a car and drive and drive and drive forever. Or maybe stop driving in a new city where I can find a new career and a real job that will pay my bills. Some dumb job where I just have to show up everyday and follow directions. Then I can go home and disappear in oblivion until work the next day. That's what I want. But I'm committed to teaching 3 classes until the end of this semester. That's through mid-may. I've taken a leave of absence or withdrawn or something from my phd program because I want it all to go to hell.
I have a bladder infection. I got this two weeks after I got over my kidney infection or kidney stone or whatever the crap it was that made me feel like I'd been run over by a truck, which caused me to spend January lying in bed. Today I spent two hours trying to get antibiotics at the local clinic. But I walked out when I couldn't take being there anymore. There were screaming sick babies and spanish novellas on the tv and uncomfortable chairs and fluorescent lights and I felt feverish. No one there spoke English. 4 people were served in 90 minutes and I still had 2 people to go before it was my turn. So I walked out. Foolish of me. I didn't want to walk the mile home in my weakened condition so I paid 5 bucks for a cab ride.
Since then I've been eating chocolate and watching garbage on tv. This is not a life. I am a waste of flesh and space. But I'm too tired to move. I'm beyond lonely and bored. I haven't been this unhappy since 1996. And that was different because I still had my future. I knew things would change. But this is it now. This is my wasteful hateful disgusting life. I'm ashamed of everything I've ever done. I'm ashamed of how I live now. I'm envious of the horrible characters parading on the tv because they aren't alone. What am I supposed to do now? I am the cat lady. I hide in my house and watch tv all day. It's despicable. I suspect much of this is the result of cutting down to 150 mg of Wellbutrin last month. Until I got the kidney infection/or stone cutting my meds made me feel better. My shrink didn't return my phone call in January so I consider our relationship terminated. She did tell me I was too depressed for therapy and beyond the help of medication so that means she has nothing to offer me anyway.
I need help. But I can't even get some freaking anti-biotics. Maybe I'll just leave it alone. In a few weeks the infection should spread from my bladder to my kidneys and then maybe I'll have renal failure. My father asked me what I was going to do for my 30th birthday--it was his bimonthly phone call. I told him I wanted to throw myself in the river. He laughed.
It will snow tomorrow. That will be nice.
***Today I find myself wondering if I've had this infection since last year. Last fall I got exhausted like this. I told my shrink that I didn't feel depressed but I was just too tired to do anything. Living in Brooklyn was when I started having to pee constantly. TMI, I know.
