final days of being dirtyfour
midlife thrisis. is there such a thing or have clever thirty-something author cum blogger types created such a monster which messes with the minds of vulnerable not quite forty somethings like yours truly? if there is such a beast as a “midlife thrisis”, i’ve been feeling his dirty mitts make minced meat out of my already broken brain.
two thousand and twelve has been a somewhat difficult year for me thus far. having attempted suicide in early january (hi, i’m still here with thanks to some kind twitter friends and one of the finest medical facilities in melbourne), i’ve slowly starting getting back on my excessively wobbly toes again.
it’s all too easy to pretend that you’re happy sometimes. it’s as simple as wandering into your place of employment, plonking your arse in your usual non-ergonomic office chair and going about your daily routine. the usual conversation about aussie rules football and how poorly your footy team is performing breaks up the day. random jokes fly left, right and centre. a few hearty (yet fake) guffaws later and there’s that feeling of anxiety causing your mind to race.
i’m in the final throws of being dirtyfour (34) and pangs of depression, anxiety, self worthlessness and frustration are there. i think back to a couple of years ago when i told an ex close friend of mine that i would be lucky if i did end up reaching the big three five. i said the very same thing about turning the big two five and yet…..i’m still bloody here.
throwing a celebration seems to be the only way to temporarily cure the blues. it won’t fix things and honestly doubt that anyone will turn up. i’m not flummoxed by the fact that i’m hosting a failparty. let there be fail! all dirtyfive years of it! if this is my last birthday party, so be it! i’ll dance, drink and call random people “cunts” because i can. when it’s all over, i’ll retreat to a hotel room and drink some more.
i have but only one birthday wish and that’s for someone to invent a time machine so i can bugger off back to when i was sixteen and STOP myself from throwing my first ever proper failparty. they’ve always been a disaster since then.
