I am almost forty (Ok, well almost 37, but that’s in the ballpark) and everything is pretty much the same as when I was 23. Minus the drugs, the living with my parents, or couch surfing.
I am still depressed for days at a time and I don’t know what I want to do with my life. Or rather, I know, but The Universe seems to be opposing me on this point. 6 months. 75 job applications. 4 interviews. 0 job offers. This is probably because I wasted my 20’s doing pot and cocaine, stripping, having mental breakdowns, working stupid jobs, going to jail, and volunteering like a good little feminist activist (which while is good experience, no one gives a shit about.)
My mother calls and I tell her I am depressed. She says “how can you be depressed when you are about to get married?” I tell her “ I don’t know,” and then, “well, I think it is the birth control and my hormones are out of wack.” This excuse makes me feel better. But she says, “Well if that is the case, you are going to have to stop taking the birth control, then you will get pregnant, which you can’t afford to do because you have no job and no money and you guys (me and the fiance) have to finish raising the kids you already have (his kids, which will be mine via marriage soon) and what are you going to do when he has to write a $10,000 check for college?
(Shit. This is actually how this went down.)
I feel a panic attack coming on. This is not helping. And she knows the only thing I want (by some strange miracle after years of saying this is the exact opposite of the thing I want) is to get pregnant. But apparently the universe thinks I do not deserve even one child because I am broke and have no job.
Anyway, I hang up on her.
She calls back.
She tells me I “should go back to therapy to figure out what my problem is” and I say “I Know what my problem is I do not have a job and so I am depressed.”
(Also, I was in therapy for 10 years previously, and while I am not saying it wasn’t helpful, I am just saying it seems dumb at this point.)
Mom is still not helpful.
What a surprise.
I hang up on her again. She doesn’t call back.
I text this guy I am talking to because I am in an open relationship, but I don’t really want to fuck anyone else besides my fiance, but I am bored and lonely and you can’t be on a dating website without the pretense of someone might get laid, so.
He says “Can you do something like yoga, or meditation, or pillow karate?”
I know these things could help (except maybe the pillow karate, because I am unsure of what that means) but I think to myself, I hate that hippy bullshit.
Instead I say something lame like “I am just going to focus on talking to positive people.”
He does not reply.
I go out and buy 2 cheap dresses at Ross, driving fast, and listening to loud, offensive music (or at least music that would be offensive to most old people, especially my soon-to-be mother in law, but that, my friends is another story).
I feel better for a time. Then I get home to an empty house, except for a dog who may hate me because I have not really walked him today, and I cry.
Then I listen to my voicemail and my dad seems like he actually has something to say to me, which is unusual, so I call him back and try to pretend like “Everything is ok.”
He goes on and on about working at the Veterans Association (Or whatever it is called, the VA) and how if I could get a job there I would make lots of money and “oh it is so easy, the social workers go around and ask “how are you today?” and fill out paperwork.”
Sure Dad. Ok.
Then I write this and try to think about how JK Rolling had a tough life, struggled with mental health and addiction, but look at her today!!! This gives some such hope (perhaps false hope).
I remember that people like these sort of stories and I can kinda write, so I should keep writing. I feel somewhat better and decide I will go out to my local dungeon tonight with my fiance and watch him spank someone else, because that is hot.