Around noon today, I reviewed an old post describing my depression nearly 6 years ago, caused by breaking off relations with my narcissist abusers, Richard and Tracy. I hadn’t forgotten how bad it got, but I did note a huge contrast to how my life is now. For example, I was deep in a funk, probably suffering from a type of PTSD caused by emotional abuse, and having trouble connecting to people in my town.
Another thing is, the older I get, especially as another birthday looms, the more my mind keeps balking at how many years have passed and my aging body. I’m not old, though my age says I’m going firmly into middle age–but I could swear I don’t feel a day over 25.
The calendar says it’s been nearly a decade since Richard first came to my town, while I could swear it was only a couple of years ago at most. I see the cool young rock stars of my youth–Prince, Henry Rollins, etc. etc.–with gray hair or, occasionally, dying.
Instead of Gen-Xers, everybody now focuses on Millennials. We’re not the cool youth fighting tradition anymore, even though I could swear my musical taste gets harder and crunchier the older I get. (Love that German Industrial. 😉 )
But then this morning I thought, “Hey, wait a minute, when I was 6 years younger, still in my 30s, I was going through this nasty depression. When I was even younger, the depression was still in my future. Now I’m over it.”
Another thing I thought: When I was 6 years younger, I wasn’t in the Writer’s Club. I didn’t join it back then because it was more of a class, and I didn’t want another class or assignments after getting a college degree in Writing. I already knew how to write, and just wanted to get better and get feedback.
Anyway, it has a different president, and now I’m in it, meeting people and making friends. One young friend nearly quit, but changed his mind, and that made me happy. He’s always arguing with the club president, who doesn’t “get” his youthful spirit and writing, but he makes me laugh. Another friend, in his 80s I believe, writes short memoirs for the local newspaper; when I walked into the meeting on Monday, he said I always look pretty and have this big smile on my face.
And I have friends at church as well. I’m making friends through Greek School, along with coffee hour. Then there’s the one I consider my best friend here, a fellow introvert, writer and German-speaker, and also a goofball.
Then this evening, I got a new thing to add to the list of what didn’t happen when I was 6 years younger and still in my 30s: I never rode in a 1929 Model A before. But now, on the edge of my 43rd year, I have ridden in one. After Greek School, I walked outside the church and there it sat in the parking lot. It belongs to a member of the church and her husband, who took out a few of us. He took us through Lakeside Park and honked the horn (yes, Ooga Ooga) at anyone who stopped and looked. 😀
And we have a family of skunks living nearby, one big one and three little ones. They’re cool to watch, though don’t get too close! Tonight they chased a rabbit. I guess rabbits don’t want to get sprayed, either.
I also didn’t have the formation of a new novel filling my head 6 years ago.
Another thing is glancing through the obits and seeing somebody my age, or younger, and realizing it’s not so bad to be just about to turn 43.
So yes, those of you going through the aftermath of abuse of some kind, it does get better. I saw in my old post that I wanted to die. But I didn’t, and now look how things are.