Surely no woman alive has ever relished, even celebrated being a spinster as much as I do. Being alone is my natural and most jubilant state. I sing , dance naked, shout, and act silly around the house as I revel in the reality that is now my life. A peeping Tom would probably believe me to be a madwoman. I am thoroughly enjoying my second childhood and who I am. I no longer sleep late because I'm too eager to begin each new day. But my life was not always such.
I am duly ashamed to admit it, but I never left my parent's home. They died on me. My last remaining parent, my father died when I was age 50. Hence began the A.D. (After Dad) period. At this writing, I'm 60 yrs old. This blog will largely concern my 50's because it was the most significant and eventful decade of my life. However we will visit the distant past from time-to-time for perspective.( Hey it's cheap therapy!) The top photo was taken when I was 55 by the Sears portrait studio. They do not do touch-ups. I've led a clean life and it shows. I remain youthful-looking for my age. So being a freak does have an up side.
My reasons for remaining with my parents were varied. Admittedly, we were a highly dysfunctional family rife with multiple mental disorders, both diagnosed and undiagnosed. I suffered from crippling shyness and severe life-long anxiety attacks that rendered me unable to drive. After the family business was sold in 1980, I had difficulty finding employment. I managed to get a few jobs I walked to, but they paid a pittance, hardly enough to live alone. I didn't go on my first date until well into middle age. Some individuals feel they were born into the wrong gender. I felt I was born into the wrong species. It has always been difficult for me to form relationships. But then I've always preferred my own company.
Others regarded me as odd. I do not care to be around anyone who views me negatively. I endured more than enough of that in High School! The caste system there rivaled that of Victorian England. Upon hearing of the Columbine shootings, my first thought was that someone finally acted out my High School fantasies.
My mother who was as deranged as they come, told me that after she and dad were gone I'd probably go insane. In a way I did. Because I'm INSANELY HAPPY! However, it didn't happen immediately. Directly after my father's passing, life was a nightmare. I suffered a horrendous and draining grieving period as I faced problems I'd never had to deal with before. I was clueless as to how things were done. Recently, I had obtained my driver's licence but was terrified to drive anywhere! Every time I spoke with my (then) financial advisor the picture changed. I really had no idea where I stood financially. I was living in a strange city. I lacked a support network of friends and relatives. Our new neighbors who were kind and solicitous during my father's illness now treated me as if I had died right along with him. I thought of killing myself. It was hardly the first time in my life I'd ever thought of suicide.
I remember watching a WWII story on the History channel about the German Wehrmacht taking big Clydesdale horses to pull heavy artillery on their march to the Soviet Union. Basically, these were parade horses and all of them died of heart failure before reaching their destination. I could relate! I felt like a show pony being forced to pull a howitzer across Poland! I had no actual marketable skills.
Previously, I put all my aspirations into becoming a writer. Which is all I ever wanted to be. It is a wonderfully solitary profession. I took several creative writing courses and worked hard. I hoped it would free me from my cage with the crazies. I was determined to be a published author or nothing. I spent five and a half decades being nothing! The mountains of rejections only added to my chronic depression. I gave up numerous times. I heard one must be super-talented to get a contract with a publisher.-- Someone please explain to me how so many badly written and downright uninteresting books manage to get into print! ( I mean the crap not written by celebrities and their coattailers.) I could swear that publishers and editors are providing careers for their untalented relatives. But then I realize I'm out of touch with the pulse of the public. Gadzooks, there have been best sellers about people dying of cancer. -- You could not pay me enough to read a book on that subject! And both my parents died from that disease, too!
I see Bristol Palin has published a memoir titled, I AM NOT AFRAID OF LIFE. (What is she, 20 yrs old? ) I doubt she's ever dealt with real life. I don't see her working two minimum paying jobs to support her bastard child. -- That's real life, not Dancing With The Stars. It's easy to be fearless when you have a big safety net.
Back to me, 2001 Vero Beach was still alien territory. We moved up here from Stuart in 1999. Largely home bound, I'd been here for 2 years. The only places to which I could drive were the supermarket, the hospital, doctor's offices, and the physical rehabilitation center. My father had suffered a heart attack and triple by-pass, a stroke, and cancer all within a year of each other. We both knew I would soon be alone.
The forest of enchantment is a metaphor. Scared and alone, I felt lost in the woods. Eventually, I discovered the forest an equally perilous and magically awesome place, and I was free to explore. But first, I had to shed my arduous baggage.
