This morning, finally, after months and months of moving all the fertility meds and books and ovulation predictor kits and pregnancy tests from closet to closet to storage locker to back deck, imagining various scenarios where I might give them to some individual or institution, I lugged the whole kit and caboodle down the back stairs and across the courtyard and dumped it all in the trash bins and closed the lid once and for all.
Facebook has become the standard vehicle for birthday wishes. It flags your friends when it’s your birthday and even gives a convenient little text entry box so users don’t need to navigate anywhere to dash off a quick wish. The result is a Facebook inbox suddenly overflowing with thoughtful reminders of friendship and connection.
For me this year the irony was poignant–especially that message that wished me a day surrounded by good friends and celebration. The contrast between the wish and the reality has sat in my heart these last couple of days like a fat clammy toad. I’m left asking myself how and why I’ve brought about such a sad and isolated existence.
The answer, like so many things, is at once simple and not so simple.
Simply, I have failed, for a number of years now, to build and maintain the very friendship connections I so treasure and crave.
The why of that is a more convoluted morass of depression and despondency. I’ve struggled with “the blues” for much of my conscious life, but for awhile now they have succeeded in circumscribing my daily existence ever tighter and smaller.
Unpacking the why of it may not even do me much good. Taking regular persistent steps to change the pattern seems the only beneficial course forward to daylight. I need to reach out and get out of the living grave I’ve dug myself– somehow, anyhow.