March 24, 2023 17 Years

After I moved here in August of 2009, after enduring an extremely traumatic marriage and huge financial losses, I always felt that I had 17 years left. Even though I was 55 years old at the time, that was my expectation. I’m not sure why; perhaps it was because my maternal grandparents died in their 70s, or because I am petrified of becoming one of those ancient shells who shuffle around Walmart. Now that annual MRIs are required for my brain, and the fact that the 2023 MRI did not address my main issues, perhaps 17 years will end up to be right on the money.

Right now, I am beset with a several months long bout with Anhedonia with no end in sight; this is a condition in which pleasure is no longer experienced. Anhedonia is a common symptom seen in those with major depressive disorder and is frequently linked to experiencing traumatic and stressful events (see “On Being Numb”); personality traits, such as pessimism or self-criticism; and having a blood relative with a history of depression. Wow! Hit the lottery! It may be caused by a decrease in activation of the region of the brain involved in reward and motivation, referred to as the ventral striatum. Great, another “brain thing;” however, according to the MRI, that part of the brain was not involved.

That reminds me: ♪”Life goes on, even after the thrill of living is gone”♪ John Cougar Melencamp

Of course, when you first move to a new place, you have the find the essential personnel: doctors, dentists, hair salons. The first dentist I went to was shocked that not only did I have all my teeth, but that I had several gold crowns as well. Then I found a better dentist. As this farm was my country place since 1996, I was already aware of the feed and grocery stores, gas stations, convenience stores and the like.

Initially, I wasn’t all that pleased with the doctor I found, but now I think he’s alright. There were other health professionals to find as well, in particular, psychiatrists and therapists. That was more difficult. After 2 false starts with psychiatrists, I finally found a decent one.

Therapists are so much more difficult to find! Too many are too young to understand my late-Boomer life, and too many held beliefs through which their advice and guidance was filtered. In the therapist realm, it seems it is always a matter of “Patient, heal thyself.” Those breakthroughs you see in movies just don’t happen in real life.

Starting in 2009, I spent my time for many, many years sorting out how much my children would receive upon my decease. I was obsessed with it, which is funny considering what a spendthrift I am. Now that I essentially have no family, that obsession is gone and I no longer care what happens to the money, although the plants, animals, and jewelry and art collections concern me. The same goes for items that I think should “stay in the family.” My children do not want my possessions, though, not even the heirlooms I treasure.

The loneliness of living in a private park in an area vastly underpopulated with educated, liberal people has been hard and likely contributes to my depression. I have one real friend here in the country, and one acquaintance whose company I enjoy. There is also the widow of the man from whom the property was bought; I feel an obligation to visit her in the nursing home, whereas previously I had looked forward to having lunch with her once a week at her house. I tried a lot of things to meet people: joining the DAR, Match.com, starting a canoe group on Meetup, playing Mahjong, and getting briefly involved with Quakers. None of these endeavors had the results I was looking for, and some ended badly. I have been told by a few people that being part of a Christian church was the best place. That's not gonna happen!