My husband bought me a load of cooking gadgets for my birthday. Basically, he bought me every cooking gadget that I have asked for over the past two years, which is odd. Ordinarily, we don’t do gifts on birthdays, except for small stuff. We usually treat ourselves to a weekend away or sometimes to nothing at all. We’re not big on ceremony. This birthday was quite different, but it wasn’t a milestone. I guess I’m still drawing a pity card.
For my birthday, I got a programmable pressure cooker/crockpot/steamer device. I got a convertible indoor grill/griddle/Panini maker. And I got a raclette, which is just SO seventies. Only problem is I’ll have to socialize with people in order to use it. I’m putting that baby on the shelf in the basement where I put all my party stuff that I stopped using—my fancy stainless steel chafer and my big glass water dispenser. God, I’m sad.
I’ve always been kind of sad. Self-deprecation can be amusing, and psychoanalyzing myself can be fun. But these days, I’m not even the funny-hah-hah kind of sad. I’m the too-fat-to-fit-into-any-of-my-clothes kind of sad. I’m the “thus, I wear my mother’s clothes, which are not my style and consequently creep out my husband because, really, who wants to look at his wife and be reminded of his mother-in-law?” kind of sad. To further this unsexy scenario, I cut off all my hair off last month, and it looked good for a couple of weeks. Now, it looks like a lackluster wing hovering awkwardly over my puffy face. Yup, I’ve got it going ON!
I believe I might be having my midlife crisis now. I’ll bet ya that’s what it is—the drinking, the death, the complete lack of interest in social activity, the looking like my mother, the drinking. Yesterday, I accidently friended about twenty random people on Facebook because I thought the “People You May Know” scroll was the “Friend Request” scroll. I felt really popular for those several minutes until I didn’t. In order to see what some of my new friends would see upon accessing my profile (new friends like friends of my mother’s and people from high school whom I may or may not have EVER spoken to) I took a journey through my uploaded pics. Wow. Facebook is the Land of Delusion for people who are too health-conscious to develop an opioid addiction. Let me explain…
In EVERY picture that I have uploaded since 2008, I am either smiling, or traveling, or socializing, or looking hot, or all of the above! According to my Facebook uploads, my life is an endless party. I spend all my time globetrotting and being adored by my husband and stepchildren. I look sexy in all those pics because why would I ever share a picture of a bad day? Even now, I can still eek out a pic of two in which I look good. I have a keen sense of style when I want to, and I can hide the mid-life-crisis fat pretty well. My life, in pictures uploaded to Facebook, is an absolute dream.
I’m not saying my life isn’t a dream. I have no complaints at all with the existence and lifestyles of others around me. Nobody bugs me. Nobody will. I just have to face this whole “being my own worst enemy” thing that’s going on here. If this is a mid-life crisis, then it can surely end. Soon, perhaps, I’ll have enough energy to get on that slow train to the fifties and beyond, where everybody’s happy because they’re still alive.
The 40s are the New 40s 
This is an incredibly important, but oh-so-sad post. I wonder if we’d all feel a little better if we admitted our Facebook lives aren’t entirely true (true, maybe, but not the whole picture). I ended up shutting down my FB account because I felt like the only shlub in my world who didn’t have a perfect life, which led to my slide into a similar type of depression you’re feeling.
Incidentally, I’m worried about you. If there was ever a person screaming for help, it’s you. I’m in no way qualified to offer professional help, but if you ever need a stranger to lean on in a low moment, I’ve been in a similar boat and can at least offer you a judgement-free shoulder to lean on, ear to listen or hand to help you dial a lifeline.
{{{Be well}}}
“The 40’s are the new 40’s” blogs are refreshingly honest and tell it like it is. Her blogs are cleverly written by the emotions she is feeling. I don’t see her “screaming for help”, I see the true nature and the facts of her life, combined by her feelings at the moment. She has a lot of love from family and friends, and can lean on them if need be… but thanks anyway.
Thank you, Lovely. You are sweet, but no need to be defensive. I am not offended by an objective perspective on my writing! Feedback is good, especially if it tells me what kind of message I am conveying. I will always welcome it! And I appreciate the offers of support, too.
I understand, sometimes I just get caught up in the moment, you know?
I thank you, GenX! It’s possible that your feedback is that one piece of inspiration I needed to do some reevaluating. I appreciate your candor. It isn’t easy to offer support, especially to a stranger. But I put it out there, and you have shown me what you see, and that’s very illuminating!
Incidentally, I have been diagnosed with depression, and I take meds, which have helped me tremendously to navigate my life like an adult and to think rationally. This latest slump is the closest thing to depression that I have felt in years, and it’s obvious that losing my mother plays a big role. The silver lining is that I know the emotions I’m feeling now are not congenital, but based in grief.
Again, thanks for reaching out. I might take you up on that!