So, as everyone knows, I’m almost fifty, unemployed and divorced. I’m not in a relationship and money problems have forced me to relocate to a town where I know no one. Meeting people has been my problem since I’ve left New York.
I don’t have a lot of interests that involve other people much. At one level I’ve always been a bit of a solitary person and an introvert. My ex-husband used to describe me as shy. It’s difficult for me to meet people and talk to people and even more difficult to make new friends. Also. I hate to drive. Leaving New York has been a fate worse than death for me. It’s like a slow death. I have bad days and okay days. I no longer have good days. Life is nothing but an effort to figure out why I don’t kill myself. I don’t know why. Maybe if I had a reason to life I’d stop thinking of killing myself. I’ve seen psychiatrists. I’ve even been hospitalized. I take medication. I don’t know what more there is to do.
I give up. I no longer know how to meet people. It’s nice to meet people online, but at some level that feels like a stop gap measure.
How does a person restart his or her life when you’ve fucked it up enough. No career. No friends. No goals. No purpose.
I’ve talked to social workers, psychologists, psychiatrists and I’m not one hundred percent sure what’s wrong with me. There are days I wonder if I went back to New York if everything would be okay again or if that’s just an illusion.
I feel trapped. No one wants to know a loser. I could hide what a mess I am, but then you can’t really make friends when you hide something essential about yourself.
So, I’m sitting on the floor of the bathroom in my hotel room. I’m not really sure how to describe it except to say that it’s really painful. I’ve toyed with the idea of taking myself to the hospital. It’s frustrating. I shouldn’t have to keep going to the hospital to keep from killing myself because all I want is to talk to someone. Going to the hospital feels like overkill. Yet, the last time I was in the hospital, that’s what I found. People who were all alone in the world. At the time, I couldn’t help thinking that maybe that’s why people get married and have families.
The fact that I’m not speaking to my mother has obviously excacerbated my loneliness. Maybe if I hadn’t had a fight with her I wouldn’t have started out feeling quite as bad and standing at the reception with no one talking to me wouldn’t have seemed like such a failure.
It’s hard to explain to someone who’s had a normal life what it’s like to have had nothing but failures in life.
Please, someone help me.