I have been in both places. Upper middle class upbringing BUT the mess of a human -- if you can even call her that -- that was my mother made sure I "understood" NOTHING was in my control and EVERYTHING -- including my very life -- was mine ONLY because she allowed it. However most of my adult life was spent living paycheck to paycheck, literally one slip-up away from being homeless with a houseful of kids and no place to go if that happened.
So -- once I was old enough to leave home I did -- and I ran on anger and sex (sex, drugs and rock-and-roll was the mantra of my time) until I had my first child -- unwed and at 24. I still had contact with my family until the dam broke when I was 30. Took my 3 children and my boyfriend, moved to "the Big City" and never looked back. Ok, a time or two I had to engage them -- my youngest brothers' graduation from the academy of the police department of one of the largest cities in America; the death of my grandson -- but because I realized I was gonna be JUST like my mother if I didn't change my whole attitude towards life. And I mellowed. Some.
Still, being a single mom, living from paycheck to paycheck, knowing every person you were related to, by blood and by marriage, were actually HOPING you failed kept me tired and pissed off. I did the best I could with what I had to work with and got everyone raised. Love my kids -- who are all grown, with kids of their own now -- more than life itself. Still, even with all that, I never ever not once thought of killing myself. I was a firm believer, even then, of each individual's right to choose, but even with all my problems, I had my children and I was happy.
In my early 40s the doctor put me on attenolol for high blood pressure and THAT was when my first suicidal ideations began. I spent WEEKS listening to depressing music and trying to figure out a way to "do it" without traumatizing those I love -- very short list, but still ... One thing led to another, I wound up getting off the attenolol, but the thoughts stayed. "They" have been with me now for almost 30 years now -- some times worse than others -- but on my best days I am glad I'm still here. On my worst days I remind myself I have promised my son I will stay.
So, here I am. I try to keep myself busy with the neighborhood kids, my pets and my garden and plants. I don't blame anyone for what goes on with me now. I am old enough now, and have read enough, to understand that life isn't gonna be easy. I'm not sure it was ever meant to be, but, Man's quest for outside validation only makes it that much worse. IMHO.
Why do I care what you think about me?
Why do I think I MUST have the validation of the handsomest guy in the club to be content in my own skin?
Why do I need certain things (almost always a list influenced by others -- a lot of times complete strangers) to consider myself successful??
Who, pray tell, gives a flying fuck??
Granted, it is my understanding that humans are "social creatures."
In that regard I must be an anomaly. I see SO many posts here of people desperate to make a connection with other people but can't (or don't feel like they can) for any number of reasons. And my heart breaks for each and every one of them. Why? You know, I am not sure -- it's not that I want people to suffer. I don't hold any animosity towards folks who haven't done me dirty, I just don't feel the "ache" to "make a connection", I guess, is the best way to put it.
Anyway, I ramble ... I do believe I will die at my own hand one day. Old age is not for the faint, and being old and banged up, too, ain't the party my grandparents made it look like back in the day. I don't think the thought of killing myself will ever leave me. However, instead of treating it like a curse, it is now a pretty comforting thought.
I have control over whether I stay or I go and that is, for now, enough for me.
