For the past 18 months or so I feel that I have done a remarkable job of maintaining my balance and not slipping into severe mood swings or depression, other than the usual work-related tantrums and rampages.
Then April happened.
A lot of stressful things happen in April. The tax deadline approaches. And the dreaded birthday. Those happen every year so I’m not sure what exactly sent me into a downward spiral. Any combination of things could contribute but I think this birthday was brutal.
Social media caught the brunt of my anxiety midway through the month, a week before my birthday. Aside from Instagram which is actually a much-needed creative outlet for me, I have largely abandoned all other social media platforms. I still read them, making a comment here and there, but not posting. I channeled all that effort into private writing, typing my random observations about life into a notepad rather than posting on social media for the world (or for hardly anyone, actually) to see. It helps. I don’t have to wonder if it has any likes or whether it will get any. It won’t. Case closed.
Normally it is the round numbered birthdays that really get under my skin. Turning 10 was no big deal; I don’t even remember it. I don’t think anyone gets stressed about turning ten. Turning 20 had me feeling a bit remorseful at leaving behind my teenage years but I do not recall feeling old other than knowing I was halfway to forty. But honestly, that was so far off my radar that I could not possibly comprehend life at forty.
In addition, I didn’t really grow up after twenty. I continued to drift and have fun although in retrospect I was in an exhaustive search to find myself. In that sense it was probably the most awkward decade of my life. I don’t believe I ever stayed in one place more than 18 months.
When 30 happened I met my spouse and finally found a promising career. I started thinking I could settle down and be “normal” for a change. Initially we did still travel a bit in the first half of that decade and then my attention became focused on buying our first home and moving up the ranks at my job. My thirties were not that bad. I still didn’t feel or act my age really. I was routinely asked to verify my age when buying alcohol even into my early 40s which was annoying at times and yet validated my belief that looking and feeling much younger had no end in sight.
The forties were actually a waste because I essentially drank away the decade like I was still living the college dorm party life to the exclusion of all else. No travel, no adventures, no real fun, just work during the day and extreme intoxication at night. Every night. For ten fucking years. Liquor controlled every aspect of my life and I was merely along for the ride. I actually think turning 40 had the least impact on me because by that point I was already oblivious to everything. If I had to single out the worst decade of my life it would be the forties, right up to the bitter end of it all at 49 when I smashed my face on concrete, broke some bones and required the first major surgery of my life.
This did prove to be a sufficient distraction from my 50th birthday. I knew I had to change some things and it took a couple of years before I was able to wean myself off hard liquor and stick with beer and wine.
Other issues started to crop up during this time. Old age issues to be precise. With the tequila, whiskey, and vodka fog lifted from my head I began to think again, to be concerned about health issues like medical exams and dental work. That’s when the high blood pressure was diagnosed.
I also opted for some eye surgery at 55 to correct my vision. I went with full lens replacement surgery because basic lasik wasn’t going to help that much. That was a difficult time because I started having other issues with my eyes — infections, redness, styes, sensations of sandy grit in my eyes and other general irritations. After visiting several optometrists I was diagnosed with dry eye syndrome by each of them.
After trying different prescriptions I finally got the most relief from a twice daily prescription eye drop coupled with artificial tears as needed, and a twice daily lid wipe. It hasn’t solved the problem by any stretch of the imagination, but it has stopped the flare-ups that made me, at worst, look like I was in the midst of a week-long drinking binge.
More than 20 years had elapsed since I had done any overseas traveling and finally I decided I would travel to Iceland. And for three consecutive years I did this. It made me feel like my old self again, my old young self. Each time I came back I promised myself I would get my teeth cleaned and get to the root of my eye problems before I would allow myself to go back. The trips were fun but I was extremely self-conscious about my appearance.
Finally after the third year of this and not adhering to my promises I started taking charge of things late in 2018. I did not allow myself a trip that year but I also kept putting off the dental work until there were hardly any hours remaining in the year.
Now I can’t even count how many times I have been to the dentist since the last week of 2018. I was up to 6 visits before I stopped counting and I’m not even done yet! Two crowns, a root canal, a deep cleaning & scraping, and whitening. I go back in June for the final permanent crown and then it will soon be time for my regular 6-month cleaning again!
I also discovered an over-the-counter eye drop that effectively deals with the redness, essentially obliterating it for a full day. Coupled with the other products I’m using this has been miraculous for my self-esteem even though it’s not perfect and frankly I hate relying on so much, but it’s far preferable to the alternative.
All this happened just in time for the April birthday which could best be described as being awakened from a deep sleep by the loudest imaginable horn. Rather than waiting to be traumatised by the big six-zero next year I was broadsided by the fact that 59 is not unlike what I felt at 19 when I knew the teenage years were disintegrating and there was nothing I could do about it.
What is different now is that the fantasy of continuing to look and feel young is over. It has been a long time since my age was checked at the liquor store. I will no longer cavort about trying to act young without any regard for the consequences. I can’t. The difference between 59 and 49 is sobering enough. When you are in your 40s you still have all of the 50s ahead of you. Suddenly I no longer have that. I have exactly 11 months of them left and there is fuck all standing in the way between where I am now and being sixty.
I cannot even quite fathom where this decade went. At least with my 40s I knew that decade was obliterated by a 10-year hangover.
It started weighing heavily on me in the days leading to my birthday. And the entire month felt eerily long, like it would never end. By the last week of April I could not even recall April Fool’s Day. It may as well have been 4 months earlier.
There were days when I felt like I was dying. There were days when I wanted to die. There were days when I was too lethargic to give a shit. I sometimes literally go into a panic when I’m thinking about life, thinking about the future, trying to be hopeful, and then 59 lights up in my head and I suddenly feel as though all of eternity has slammed down on my chest rendering me unable to breathe. It has not been pleasant.
Twenty years can sometimes fly by seemingly in an instant. If I am lucky enough to live another twenty I will be 79 which is such an absurd thought I do not wish to entertain it. Already I no longer neatly fit within the group I’ve identified with my entire adult life — young people! I could just omit the neatly bit. I no longer fit. Delusions are another problem of mine and perhaps this is a good time to stop living those. My past is far more extensive than my future and that’s an unavoidable bitter fact. I just have to accept it, make adjustments to my attitude, and move on. Perhaps turning 60 will be as uneventful as turning 10 now that I’ve gotten some of the angst out of my system.
At any rate, by the time I wrap up my dental work, the year will be half over. Now that I have fulfilled the promise to myself perhaps my reward can be another trip to Iceland. Having stayed at home in 2018 and not having gone anywhere yet in 2019 I am feeling a bit like I’m slipping back into some old unpleasant ruts. Whether I will go there and suddenly feel 20 again or whether I will feel 59 remains to be seen. I think I should just wing it and see what happens.
I am not the same person I once was. I will not be the same person who visited Iceland at 18 or 55, 56, or 57, but I will be who I am when I am there.
The past few months I have spent reading books. I started with an Icelandic novelist and have expanded my reading to include one of his influences, a Norwegian author. They could all be described as somewhat morbid and horribly depressing at times. But there is often an underlying humour at least. What’s interesting about my selection of books is that they all seem to parallel in some way what I’m feeling and experiencing in life, not in a general sense but in very specific details.
Chapter 8 of the current book begins: “The years pass quickly, do they? Yes, for the one who is growing old.”
Or to put it another way, from one of my own personal notepad entries recently: “The good news is that I’m not in the home stretch of life yet. The bad news is there’s not much between here and there.”
That humour, depressing as it is, keeps me going, knowing I am not alone. Getting old isn’t the problem; it’s the lack of remaining time that pisses me off.
