I’m turning 41 tomorrow.

I’m starting to hate having birthdays.

And it’s not because of how old I am.  I honestly don’t care about the gray hairs that have been sprouting out of my skull or the wrinkles I’m developing around my eyes.  The southbound direction body parts are starting to take doesn’t really concern me either nor the extra pounds that refuse to come off.  This stuff happens to everybody as they get older.

I’m totally okay with the fact I’m getting older.

What I’m not okay with is where I am after 40 years of life.

Of course, I’m pleased to be mom to my kids.

But, a lot of the time, it feels like having my kids was the only 3 things I did that I didn’t completely screw up.

I’m 41 with two failed marriages.  Still over $15000 in debt to the government in student loans for a degree I failed to get.  And now I sit here with a mental disorder that keeps me from keeping a job or dealing with little things like head lice.

Where I am at 41 is a sad, sad place.

My life is a pathetic venture of watching TV and knitting.  Day in and day out.  I can’t even keep my house in order.

I’m 41 with no skills, no ambition, no life.

What does one do when you’re me?

I know I dreamed about some sort of future when I was young.  But I don’t remember what that was anymore.  I can’t even remember what the point of majoring in psychology was when I went to college – which I crapped out of after two and a half years.

Where do I go from here?

The legacy I’m leaving my children makes me want to puke.

I shudder when I think of what my children may say if people ask them about their mother.

“What does your mother do?”

“Oh, she sits on the couch.”

What does one do when one is me?

I feel like I have failed completely at just being a human being.

I would love to make some resolutions about going forward in my life, but I don’t know where to go.  I look into my future and I see nothing.  I’ve asked myself what I would really like to do with my life.

I have no answer.

I envision my life in 10 years when my youngest moves out of the house.  There I am, sitting on the couch watching TV and knitting.

It’s one of the reasons I don’t see a point in living.  I’ve only got about another 10 years before all my children are gone.  Then there will be just me.  Still metabolizing oxygen into carbon dioxide, but otherwise a 175lb slug.

Where is the point?

I love my children very much, but I feel like I’m useless to them.

I wish I could find some point to my life.

I’m 41 and probably over halfway through my life span.  What do I have to look forward to?  Another 30 years of the same thing I’m doing now?  Why would I want that?  I have no friends (and by friends I mean people I spend more than an hour a week with), no man, no life.

Now I know some would be thinking that I just need to make changes.  But change what?  I live on nothing.  I can’t afford to take classes.  Besides, what classes would I take?  I have no ambitions.  Nothing I greatly desire to do.  I have no talents that are worth anything.

There’s really no point to me being here.  I’m a waste of skin and bone.

I’m 41.

I’d rather 42 never come…then I could at least make room for the next man.


About Sharon

Check out my "A Bit About Me" tab to learn a bit about me
This entry was posted in just a venting moment, This 'n that and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to 41

  1. Pingback: 41 | From Inside the Borderline

  2. Pingback: Why go on | From Inside the Borderline

  3. Pingback: 42 | For What It's Worth

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