Today is Your Birthday!
I woke up this morning hearing that Beatles song playing in my head. I didn't realize I knew that song well enough to have it run through that transition stage between sleeping and waking. Anyway, I am 50 years old today. I was thinking about being depressed, and I indulged that thought for about ten minutes. After all, there is certainly reasons to do so in my life right now. My health is obviously not good. I've been hospitalized twice in the past two weeks, and I've been to Kaiser South Sacramento way too much over the past month. I don't have a job anymore because of my health issues, and I don't have enough money to meet all of my obligations. Even worse, I haven't accomplished any of the goals that I set out for myself as a young woman. That bothers me the most. I've lost nearly an entire lifetime to food addiction and morbid obesity. And no one did this to me. I did this to myself.
Then, I moved on to my actual "birthday". Other than the fact that I was born at 7:55 AM on this day, it's not much different than yesterday. I'm not well enough to go to the movies and or do anything else that would be fun, like have a staged reading of my play. By the way, I've been more than a little peeved that I can't even do that, and blaming God for the unfortunate timing of events. Isn't a person's 50th birthday supposed to be a REALLY BIG deal? Shouldn't have I have a momentous celebration, even if I can't do my favorite meal (any one of hundreds, actually) with the ice cream and cake thing and have all my friends over so we can laugh and talk and dance to old school R&B? It's not fair that I have to spend this day in my apartment with the blinds drawn, God! Whoa. Back up, girl. Did God force me to put so much food in my mouth that I would eventually tear a hole in my stomach? It always comes right back to me and this addiction, doesn't it?
That is depressing.
I allowed myself to feel the full emotional impact of all this for ten minutes. Then the phone rang. My son, Marc, called from Boston with his usual birthday greeting: "I love my mommy on mommy's day! I love my mommy on mommy's day!" That doesn't mean he doesn't love me on other days. It's just his way of saying happy birthday or happy Mother's Day. Probably like many other families, we have our own special code words and phrases for things. In fact, we probably have a lot more than most families because the head of this familial unit (me) is strange enough to think of them. I can't tell you how many times Chenelle has said, "Why is my mommy SO WEIRD?"
Then Marc hit me with the zinger: "So, you're like, how old now?" I cracked up laughing for almost five minutes. Pure magic. Depression time over. Move on with your day, Angela. And I've had a barrage of phone calls from family and friends wishing me a happy 50th ever since. There's a good possibility that if I had stayed in that messed up state of mind, I would have let the phone ring all day without picking up. And then what? Wallow in even MORE misery? What would that do for me, really? Probably goad me to indulge some very slippery and dangerous food thoughts, like the ones that flit in and out of my thought patterns, but are held off by working my recovery program. How great would that have been: fifty years old, depressed and face down in the food, AGAIN. Nice. And no thank you. I can make a better choice for myself today, like doing my recovery work, getting myself out of God's way so I can remain abstinent, blogging, and later on, spending some precious time with my daughter Clarissa and my beautiful grandson. And I get to do that with a clear mind that is PRESENT. I've never done that before, birthday or no birthday.
I have some other thoughts that I need would like to share, but I will reserve them for later on. I think I'm entitled to two posts on my 50th birthday, right? :)
Then, I moved on to my actual "birthday". Other than the fact that I was born at 7:55 AM on this day, it's not much different than yesterday. I'm not well enough to go to the movies and or do anything else that would be fun, like have a staged reading of my play. By the way, I've been more than a little peeved that I can't even do that, and blaming God for the unfortunate timing of events. Isn't a person's 50th birthday supposed to be a REALLY BIG deal? Shouldn't have I have a momentous celebration, even if I can't do my favorite meal (any one of hundreds, actually) with the ice cream and cake thing and have all my friends over so we can laugh and talk and dance to old school R&B? It's not fair that I have to spend this day in my apartment with the blinds drawn, God! Whoa. Back up, girl. Did God force me to put so much food in my mouth that I would eventually tear a hole in my stomach? It always comes right back to me and this addiction, doesn't it?
That is depressing.
I allowed myself to feel the full emotional impact of all this for ten minutes. Then the phone rang. My son, Marc, called from Boston with his usual birthday greeting: "I love my mommy on mommy's day! I love my mommy on mommy's day!" That doesn't mean he doesn't love me on other days. It's just his way of saying happy birthday or happy Mother's Day. Probably like many other families, we have our own special code words and phrases for things. In fact, we probably have a lot more than most families because the head of this familial unit (me) is strange enough to think of them. I can't tell you how many times Chenelle has said, "Why is my mommy SO WEIRD?"
Then Marc hit me with the zinger: "So, you're like, how old now?" I cracked up laughing for almost five minutes. Pure magic. Depression time over. Move on with your day, Angela. And I've had a barrage of phone calls from family and friends wishing me a happy 50th ever since. There's a good possibility that if I had stayed in that messed up state of mind, I would have let the phone ring all day without picking up. And then what? Wallow in even MORE misery? What would that do for me, really? Probably goad me to indulge some very slippery and dangerous food thoughts, like the ones that flit in and out of my thought patterns, but are held off by working my recovery program. How great would that have been: fifty years old, depressed and face down in the food, AGAIN. Nice. And no thank you. I can make a better choice for myself today, like doing my recovery work, getting myself out of God's way so I can remain abstinent, blogging, and later on, spending some precious time with my daughter Clarissa and my beautiful grandson. And I get to do that with a clear mind that is PRESENT. I've never done that before, birthday or no birthday.
I have some other thoughts that I need would like to share, but I will reserve them for later on. I think I'm entitled to two posts on my 50th birthday, right? :)
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