By this time next year, there’s a high likelihood that I will be dead.
I was in a 14-year relationship that started out wonderful, stayed wonderful for several years past the early infatuation….and then, due to private reasons, gradually became more draining and more heartbreaking. Long story short, he didn’t love me any more as a woman, in a sexual and romantic way – but he never could summon the cojones to end it. He was going to keep me around, living under the rules of a relationship, but without the compensations for obeying the rules.
So, in January 2016, when I couldn’t stand the situation any more, I ended it.
We’re still good friends. In fact, in some ways, we’re better friends now than we were when we were trying to maintain the fiction of couplehood.
But the fact remains that nobody else wants me. I’m an unwanted woman, on my own.
Then, in March 2016, I was laid off from my job.
Yes, I understand that this happens to everybody nowadays. Job security is a thing of the past (even though I’m not allowed to jerk employers around the way they jerk me around.) After all, we live under the wonderful Free Market Capitalism
Religion System in the United States. You know, the best country in the world. I’m damn lucky to be able to pay through the nose for healthcare and get a measly 10 days of paid vacation a year. Because it could be worse. I could be working two or three retail or restaurant jobs, with NO insurance and NO paid time off. Or, I could have one of the jobs that our revered corporate gods executives outsourced to India, and be working 14 hours a day for 10 cents an hour. So, I’m GRATEFUL. Happy happy joy joy!
Except…I was laid off by another company a little over two years ago.
I’m getting fucking sick and tired of this. And no, I’m not going to go back to school and retrain in another field. I’m fifty-fucking-two years old. I suck at math. I’m not going to be able to handle the degree requirements to be an accountant or an engineer. I don’t have a big wad of cash sitting around to start my own business; and I don’t have any business ideas anyway. I’m not that good at creating work where no work existed before. Anyway, most small businesses go down in flames in the first two years. I want to work for somebody else, but be treated fairly (and not thrown away like a used condom every time the market hiccups.)
So. I don’t have a relationship, and I don’t have a job.
I could live to be 80, if my lifespan is unimpeded.
Well, fuck that. I’m not sticking around for another 28 years of layoffs and men who crap out on me.
I have made a decision. If, by the Ides of March, 2017, I do not have both a decent job and a normal relationship – I am going to end my life.
What’s that? I’ll go to hell? I probably would anyway, since I disobey the rules of most religions.
You believe in reincarnation, and if I die on purpose, I’ll have to come back and do it all over again? Fine. I’ve fucked up pretty royally this time around. A do-over might be a good idea.
My family will miss me? They’ll get over it.
I’m going to die someday anyway, so why not set the date?
All I want is a decent job and a normal relationship by this time next year. Those are not unreasonable things to ask for, for a middle class person living in a developed nation.
God, Fate, or whatever helps us out with these things – you’ve got some time. No need to call the suicide prevention people just yet.
I will be patient for one more year. But that’s it. I’ve already been patient for the past three years. Enough is enough.