The Thinking Other Woman

On the 24th of January, it will be a full eight years since we first said I Love You in emails to one another. Every year on this date, I used to put a heart up on my old Facebook profile we corresponded on. I did that on his birthday, too. In case he ever went there and saw them. I don't think I will this year. 

For me, hate to say it but it's been eight years of hell.

As I explained in my previous posting, that isn't his fault. Rather, it's because I grew up in a very, VERY sick family with a mentally ill mother (whom I just heard from again, god help me ... definitely need some advice from my therapist on THIS one!). I had a horrible home life in childhood, then went to school to get laughed at and picked on, never felt comfortable around people or learned how to make friends, had miserable emotional fallout once I left home for college, then a horrible time in professional school, a horrible time in my career especially the first fifteen years, was unable to pair bond appropriately ... and then once I did, brain cancer took him in less than seven years. 

I made up for all this making up tall tales about how I'd Be A Writer Someday ... and then I had to face the fact that I had NO talent, and here I am, going to be fifty-five years old. My best years are behind me and they were mostly shitty, and I have nothing left to look forward to but debt, doctors, Depends, dementia, and death. In a nursing home. Alone.

If my life hadn't been so shitty and crushing, I'd have been able to leave this guy in the dust, no sweat. But I had nothing to look forward to, and realizing that over the past eight years has really made this miserable.


BUT ... 2023 is here.



These miserable eight years are over. 


This is the year he either gets his shit together or ultimately fails in the attempt. I should know by the end of the year which way it's going to go. Definitely by his birthday this year, I will know if anything is going to happen or not.


Which means I get to just forget about it now. All I have to do now is accept the life I have, and the future I have ... such as it is ... and I don't have to feel sadness at the thought of this not working out anymore.


It will be in the past.


Maybe I can finally put all the disappointment of this whole, awful, miserable, godforsaken life behind me once and for all.


In astrology class, we are learning right now about rulership, exaltation, detriment, and fall. I knew these before, but I didn't realize they were this important in a chart. Yet, looking at ours, I can see it's the truth. My Saturn is in fall and so is his sun. It's exceedingly, exceedingly hard for us to -function well in these areas of our lives. Him, living a life that's self-directed instead of directed by other people. Me, believing in myself and pursuing goals.


And look at me, giving up. I am THE most UNmotivated person I know. I created this comfortable couch for myself (eight years ago, it was to be ours) and here I sit. I don't care to put any effort at all anymore into anything anymore.


I know it isn't going to work out. Why fucking bother??? These days a thing has to be VERY enjoyable in order for me to do it, and pretty much nothing I used to feel motivated to do anymore is.


That's because I know there is no point in goal-directed effort. NO, I will never get published. NO, I will never sell books. NO, I cannot write a story anyone will ever want to read. I keep getting these tarot card readings that are like Lucy Van Pelt, Charlie Brown, and that damn football. You've learned all your spiritual lessons and settled all your karma and you're done now. Now you can write your own ticket! Whatever you wish for you will get!! Well, you're too late. I already gave up. Wasn't that what you wanted? You got it!!


Oh, good lord. NO, I will never get published. NO, I will never sell books. NO, I cannot write a story anyone will ever want to read. NO, I will never be thin. Who fucking cares whether the house is clean or not? No one's here but me. Why put all that work into it?


It's not like I give a shit anymore.


THAT is the only way for me to live: DON'T GIVE A SHIT. DON'T HAVE GOALS. DON'T ASK FOR ANYTHING.

It's not going to happen. 


I know what's going to happen. I'm going to die either here or in a nursing home, alone. That's all there is to look forward to. My life is pretty much over.


Now that these past eight years are, too, maybe I can just exist in a state of peace instead of constantly mourning the life other people got to have that I didn't get to have. Those years are gone, and I am an old woman. Nothing will ever bring those years back. All I can really do is work like a dog to retire debt and try not to hit extreme old age, extremely poor.


Ha, ha, ha. I have NO chance of THAT. All I can really do is live in acceptance of what is.


One of the neighbors behind me shoots off fireworks on important days, so I get a free firework display. They just went off.


In celebration of the END of this horrible eight years.


It's got to get better from here. Even if it's only a little bit better. Because I changed completely from that stupid little kid I used to be, and I gave up on everything.