29 June 2008
The Sharp End... again
03/07/08 20:07 Filed in: General,
Depression
Well, here I am again at the sharp end of things.
When a guy like me is puffing on the up side of 60 and living alone and has nothing of consequence to do, especially if he is dysthymic, he has a lot of time to think. And I’ve ben thinking. A lot. I miss being married. I think that was the one thing that glued me together for so long, even through the hard times. But it is sad for me to now realize that the profession I chose would not serve me well in these later years. I’m OK at making friends, but the opportunities are few. And the few friends I do have are scattered all over the globe. It also troubles me that, though I can conceptually grasp the idea of having fun, the process itself is foreign to me. I may have had fun now and again, but it usually manifested itself in the form of a feeling of contentment, and that was all well and good. But when people now tell me to do something that will be fun, I haven’t a clue. I can’t imagine what might be fun. Though intellectually understood, the concept and reality of having fun evades me.
And I’ve always been pretty much a loner. I was always looking inside for answers. Maybe that’s why I made the normally lonely job of being a painter even more isolating. With Mary aas my wife, a balance was reached. I could be alone inside but still be with her all day, every day. Had I chosen almost any other profession, I would likely now have many friends and still be doing something that interested me and excited me. A lot of people over 60 are right now leading full lives doing fascinating things. I envy them.
But I also realize that the dysthymia and severe depressive episodes that have been the foundational background radiation of my life led me to do what I do now or, rather, what I DON’T do now. I’m jealous of those my age who are still happily married. Some have children that love them and enrich their lives. Some are so busy studying or inventing or doing other things that they have no time to give thought to those things that growd into my brain each and every day. Life comes at you faster than you think it will.
So, I’m alone. No one needs me. I’ve isolaed myself evenfurther from my family so that there would be no chance that I would ever become a burden to them. My bucket list is nearly completed, and then there’ll be nothing left but that sharp end again.
I hate it when that happens.
When a guy like me is puffing on the up side of 60 and living alone and has nothing of consequence to do, especially if he is dysthymic, he has a lot of time to think. And I’ve ben thinking. A lot. I miss being married. I think that was the one thing that glued me together for so long, even through the hard times. But it is sad for me to now realize that the profession I chose would not serve me well in these later years. I’m OK at making friends, but the opportunities are few. And the few friends I do have are scattered all over the globe. It also troubles me that, though I can conceptually grasp the idea of having fun, the process itself is foreign to me. I may have had fun now and again, but it usually manifested itself in the form of a feeling of contentment, and that was all well and good. But when people now tell me to do something that will be fun, I haven’t a clue. I can’t imagine what might be fun. Though intellectually understood, the concept and reality of having fun evades me.
And I’ve always been pretty much a loner. I was always looking inside for answers. Maybe that’s why I made the normally lonely job of being a painter even more isolating. With Mary aas my wife, a balance was reached. I could be alone inside but still be with her all day, every day. Had I chosen almost any other profession, I would likely now have many friends and still be doing something that interested me and excited me. A lot of people over 60 are right now leading full lives doing fascinating things. I envy them.
But I also realize that the dysthymia and severe depressive episodes that have been the foundational background radiation of my life led me to do what I do now or, rather, what I DON’T do now. I’m jealous of those my age who are still happily married. Some have children that love them and enrich their lives. Some are so busy studying or inventing or doing other things that they have no time to give thought to those things that growd into my brain each and every day. Life comes at you faster than you think it will.
So, I’m alone. No one needs me. I’ve isolaed myself evenfurther from my family so that there would be no chance that I would ever become a burden to them. My bucket list is nearly completed, and then there’ll be nothing left but that sharp end again.
I hate it when that happens.