I was simply enjoying a car journey home from the garden centre one day last week when – with no provocation – some great big freaky freakoid leapt out at me and caused the weirdest sensations. In my head I’ve been likening it to a mini anxiety attack, but on reflection it appears I’ve been suffering from these without realising for howevermanyyears anyway; stress-related IBS, blushing, tongue-tiedness, palpatations, festering warmth and that humongous debilitating knot of worrisomeness that lives in my chest as my constant companion.
The further I get from the actual experience the more ridiculous it seems, but it was truly frightening, if only for a couple of minutes.
It began with a WHOA!
Became a YOU’RE GOING TO BE 40 THIS YEAR!
And hasn’t really ended.
I don’t feel old. But I am old. And I suddenly realised that my life as passed me by, and the older I get the more blurred it becomes.
I haven’t really achieved anything with my life. I haven’t had a baby (SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! STUPID MOTHER OF MY BLOKEY!) and I may have a mortgage but we only have one toilet (I know, I’m ridiculous *rolling of eyes*).
Yes, society makes me think that I’m a failure. All of a sudden my head has decided that I haven’t conformed to society’s wishes. Facebook screams of the jubilation of babies and children and I just want to bang my head against a brick wall.
“My toddler had a poo today!”
Well, no shit.
I suppose the best way I can describe my experience in the car was one of deep sadness. And I don’t just mean deep. I mean DEEP. And for the briefest of moments I actually thought, I don’t want to turn 40; I don’t have to turn 40. It was such a peaceful thought … and it’s that peacefulness that scared the crap out of me.
I know that I’m blessed. I have an adoring Blokey, two beautiful cats, a couple of crazy neighbours to keep me occupied, a job I love, I know some brilliant people and have an amazing family. We own our own house (with help from the bank) and our own car. We have savings that amount to more than I earn in a year and I can afford to buy pretty things.
But I feel that my life is spiraling out of control. I need control. I crave it. And yet I have none right now, and I’m teetering on the edge of my world with a sense that I’d be quite happy to fall off the edge …
(I don’t want sympathy … I want a kick up the arse, with thanks in anticipation …)