Having been 55 years old for a few days now

Yesterday while I was running I was thinking that inner strength and belief in yourself can get you far in this world.  If you think you don’t need other people’s support and love and kindness and advice to get by, you are going to be waiting for a while.  People are unreliable.  People don’t stick around.  Believe in yourself instead.

Waiting for other humans is like texting someone, and then sitting around waiting for a response that never comes.  Just don’t bother.  Think of the minutes of your time that you are wasting, staring at the phone that never vibrates.  Weren’t you doing that same damn thing with a landline decades ago?  You felt like strangling the person, or yourself, with the cord.  Shut down your cell phone, and get on with your life.   People are not worth it and this person obviously isn’t bothering with you anyway.

Do you seek the approval of others before doing everything you do?  Like do you go to your therapist and ask for advice and approval of each and every decision?  It’s your life, not his or hers, and you have control.  You’re a grown-up now.  Part of being a grown-up is making decisions on your own without these other grown-ups.  Oh, these people eat it up that they get to control your life.  Shock the pants off of them and do something on your own for a change.  Get a dog.  Get married.  Or cancel the next appointment.  You can do it.

Yes, you can make decisions about when and what to eat.  Yes, you can make decisions about your body.  Yes, you can cook for yourself.  Yes, you can choose to exercise and move your body in all kinds of ways, and that means more than just stretching or looking out the window or sitting in group and raising your legs or “coping skills.”  Your body has a future beyond just “gentle yoga” for the rest of your life.  Yes, you can run, and if some idiot therapist tells you not to, tell them you are taking care of your body and maybe you need a new therapist.

So, thinking all these things, I upped my speed on the treadmill some.  I was nearing what would be my third lap at Victory Field.  Only I was  grateful that I was not out in the cold and my fingers weren’t so cold that they were snapping off.  I thought: Gee, I could roast a finger or toe for dinner and satisfy those fuckers that I’d eaten protein.

I’m turning 55, and I thought of all the people in the world that did not help me get to this place.  I thought of all the people that did not believe in me.  I thought of the ex-friends that badmouthed me.   I thought of all the mental health professionals that did not believe in me and did not help me and tried, again and again, to have me put away.  When I left the hospital that last time, they shook their heads and said, “She’ll never make it.”  Those fuckers.

I thought of the various people who had called the police on me over the past year or two.  I think the police found it rather annoying to say the least, and didn’t particularly want to deal with these hysterical-sounding do-gooders calling from out of town.  They did not believe these callers.  When the police arrived, they had smirks on their faces.  Just doing their duty.  Oh, the looks I get.

I thought of the time I was looking for a therapist, how many calls I had to make.  Literally hundreds.  I received hundreds of “No” calls back.  I went on wild goose chases, too, going to therapists and then having them tell me they could not or would not help me.  I went to one therapist who did not even have qualifications to be a therapist, no degree in anything relevant, and did had not training in proper confidentiality or professional ethics.  No business card, either, hmm. ( Gee, I’m just as qualified, I have a master’s degree in something, why don’t I set up a therapy business, too, and start charging?)  Wow, now I have a therapist, finally.  Not sure it’s doing me any good, but I have one.  She’s okay.  I show up.  Nothing’s happening in therapy but I am not going to stop, because at least she isn’t abusive.  I’m just bored of it.


The eating disordered part of me would love it if I could find a place where I could be anorexic, get skinny, wither away and die.  You know something?  Life is deceptive.   There is no such place, much as we anorexics would love to make such a paradise for ourselves, and try darned hard to do so.  It is the Anorexic Hell Hospice, and it takes on various forms.  For many, this Anorexic Hell Hospice is our own homes, or the homes of our families of origin.  So for a lot of people with anorexia, the answer is to get away from this family of origin and break free, not only physically, but in the spiritual sense as well.  Many are locked into the control of the family for life, and I’m not saying this is what caused the ED, but I’m saying if you’re trapped, you’re trapped.  Get out.

The  hospital is a huge trap.  Get out.  Hospitals are for sick people and hospitals perpetuate illness.  They are run by insurance, money, and red tape and are poorly managed.

But don’t go to a hospice, either.  Think about it.  Do you want to live or die?

Is “home” a place to live or die?

If you’re like me, you haven’t answered that question, and you’ve been straddling between life and death for years, playing the game.  Just quit the game and live.  It ain’t worth playing.  You know why?  You don’t even get to choose the moment of death.  No one does.  You get gypped out of that.  It gets chosen for you, at random, and that I know of, most folks die alone in some dark, dark place.

Feedback and comments welcome!