This most recent bout of depression/anxiety has really gotten me thinking. That may be good, or bad. 

When you are young, the whole world is open before you, and you collect things, people, ideas, beliefs as you experience it. 

You reach a certain age, and things aren't so shiny and new anymore. Things become mundane, boring, and it gets frustrating. Comes a time when you have to start paring down your life, getting rid of things and people who no longer are a positive in your life. 

I live in a dead-end town, the town I grew up in. Got out of it for thirteen years, but a crisis in my life brought me back here. It's not the same place that it was when I was younger; then, I hated it because it was boring. Now, I hate it because it's become a drug and crime infested place where good citizens are afraid to even leave their homes sometimes. 

I thought by now, I'd have found someone compatible to share my life with; that hasn't happened. I know we are not guaranteed this. 

As of now, I'm stuck. The priority is to recover from this new bout. Then to find the strength to move on, and not lose hope. To believe that life is still worth living. 

I am a good person. I am an honest person. I am a loving person. Why so much suffering?

I haven't written in this blog for a few years (!!). To the person who left the message in 2006 (!! again), thank you. This was meant to be a blog, a sort of emotional release for me, but haven't kept up with it, as my life was a continuing disaster. 

Forward to 2014, October. My life is still a disaster, but I've gotten old enough now that I think it's time to really peruse it, from beginning to now, and do what I can do to change it and make it better. 

I am once again suffering from a bout of severe depression/anxiety, and am doing what I need to to pull myself out of it. Once again, I am feeling the effects of an ill-chosen relationship with another. 

From what I can figure, my parents loved me very much, and wanted to give my brother and I a good life (they did, and for that I am grateful), but it was dysfunctional in other ways. My dad worked second shift most of his working years, so I didn't see him much except for weekends, and I believe that was part of my problem of choosing the wrong people to care for. 

My dad died in 2005, and my mother is 77 now.

My ex-husband and I have remained friends, and he has his own family and problems.

I feel very, very alone. It's tough to be this anxious and depressed and still manage to care for myself properly. 

I've had to take a leave from work.

My mother loves me, but we've never been able to talk intimately. I've never really had anyone who cares to listen, just listen, and offer a caring shoulder. 

Through the years, I guess I've just silenced myself, and held it all in, no matter how tough things got or how bad I felt. No one really seemed to understand, or any conversation ended up being all about them. 

I gave up.  

At 54, I'm stuck in a drug infested, dead-end small city, in another dead-end job. 

I don't want to spend the rest of my life here.