About Me / Recovery

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

Since last I wrote, I have aged a whole year. Quite literally. I had a birthday. I am now 59 years old. Where that fits on the spectrum of “old” completely depends on where you’re currently standing. To my two-year-old granddaughter, I’m just a few short steps away from the grave. To my elderly patients at work, I’m just a youngster who is full of life and verve. From where I sit, it looks awfully close to 60. And I do not like the sound of that at all. Not one little bit.

So I’m trying to stay young for another year

I spent money I can ill afford getting two tattoos for my birthday. I had wanted them for quite some time. Which always surprises me, because for the first 50 years of my life, I thought tattoos were ridiculous. And then I had my life-defining nervous breakdown and I suddenly had to get one. It turns out they’re addictive and I now have 12. Not sure I’ll be getting any more. But who knows? Life is a mysterious thing.

I now have a semicolon cat on my thumb. About twice the size I’d anticipated because tattoo artists don’t like doing tiny tattoos – they bleed and go blurry. Wish someone had told me that when I got my first, now blurry, tattoos. The new tattoo is two things to me – firstly, I love cats. And I don’t trust people who don’t like cats. What’s not to love?! But secondly, through project semicolon, the semicolon has become synonymous with mental health, in particular suicide prevention. And it becomes a reminder that despite how I felt five years ago, my story isn’t over yet. At just 59, and with a strong history of longevity in my family, I probably have a solid 30-40 years left in me. Which honestly, some days feels really overwhelming. But mostly means I still have plenty of time to do all sorts of things. What exactly those things are I do not know. I guess as time unfolds, I will discover what they are.

I have an angel on my shoulder now

She is taking a moment to consider her life choices. But I know she’s going to rise up and dust off those feathers that keep falling out. She knows that when life feels overwhelming you just cocoon for a moment, breathe deeply, and then get back on your feet, look around and do the best you can. Breathe in some fresh air and look for the next golden sunrise bursting across the skies, bringing a new dawn and a new day. Because every dark night, no matter how long and endless it feels, is followed by another morning. Some mornings are grey and dull but they’re still lighter than the night. And some days are glorious blue skies and little white fluffy clouds and sunshine so bright that sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat are needed. Those are the best ever days. My angel will be donning her hat any minute now.

This ageing business isn’t all it’s cracked up to be

We hear it all the time – 40 is the new 30. 50 is the new 40. And so on and so on. I guess what people mean is that in this modern era, we are trying to stay young at heart even longer. To stop calling ourselves old when we’re just a 59-year-old pup. But no matter how young I tell myself I am, my body is still ageing at the same rate that 59-year-old bodies aged in the past.

I lead a pretty healthy lifestyle. I eat well and exercise regularly. Due to the miracles of modern medicine cocktails (ten little tablets per night for me these days), I now get sleep on a regular basis. And I have gone out of my way over the past ten years to heal and protect my mental health. I have a lovely, albeit small, social circle. It is all the social I need. I am doing everything in my power not to age prematurely. And yet here I am, ageing anyway.

There are all sorts of things that young people don’t get told about

Somewhere around your 40th birthday your bum drops. No matter how many squats you do, gravity takes its toll and those pert cheeks start flopping south. There’s no undoing it. I keep squeezing my butt cheeks regularly, but they just don’t stand up on their own anymore.

We fart more. It’s very undignified. Once upon a time, I read a scientific article about why it happens but at the end of the day it doesn’t help. I have to expend more of my time practising pelvic floor exercises in order to not let loose at inappropriate moments.

Every conversation with a group of similar-aged friends ends up talking about shit. Quite literally. We get excited any time we have a good one. It feels so incredibly satisfying – for hours afterwards. I wish I hadn’t taken my digestive system for granted when I was 20.

Catching a thought is a complicated process. I spend more energy chasing down lost words than I do making conversation. There was a time when I could play seven pages of music from memory. Now I can’t remember what that music was. I’ve started downloading games on my phone to try and increase memory. But they’re just really boring.

Everyone is talking about dodgy joints – knees and hips are a particularly common topic. A lot of them are getting replaced. All those years playing netball or running or jumping up and down to look after kids are coming back to bite us in the arse. While I am personally very blessed in the joint department at this point in time, most people I know are not.

Hair falls off your head and sprouts everywhere else. I was hoping that with age I would be able to stop having my legs and sensitive nether regions waxed, but no. I lose fistfuls of hair on my head every time I wash it. But the rest of me is still quite hirsute. My only saving grace is that I have very fair hair and poor vision. So I can’t see it.

I could go on and on . . .

Everyone thinks of ageing as wrinkles and saggy boobs. And those things are true. But it’s the terrible eyesight and declining hearing and the irritable digestive system and the declining balance and the achy bits and the endless tiredness and the decreased tolerance for bullshit and the falloobadoobas where your triceps used to be . . . That is ageing at 59. I’m not sure what ageing at 69 or 79 or 89 looks like. I’ll get back to you then.

In the meantime, a reminder that we’re only as old as we feel. And I am in excellent health and still consumed with self-doubt and confusion about where my future is heading and still loving tattoos and wanting some new ear piercings. So, I think I can confidently say I’m about 19 at heart. That sounds like a lovely age to be.