Sunday, September 10, 2006

Bitter, party of one

Today I went to a bridal shower I helped organize for a very dear friend of mine, Bina, who's been incredibly helpful and supportive in dealing with my illness (she's a psychiatric nurse, so she knows a lot about the various medications I've been put on). She's also an older single, like me.

The shower was held at the palatial home of Bina's childhood friend Rachel, whose teenage daughters put in an appearance, and another childhood friend who attended was celebrating the recent birth of identical twins. There was also a former resident of the West Side there, Sheryl, now married with two kids, who asked me about an awful ex-friend of mine.

"How's Daisy doing?" she asked.

"Fine," I said. I didn't say: she betrayed me in the worst possible way. She knows about my illness, and when I called her on her self-pity, she sent me a vicious email that began, "Ayelet: Get help" and went on to tell me that I was acting manic, and everyone knew and thought I was crazy. It was particularly vile because it wasn't true, and because I had been exceptionally supportive of her after she broke up with her boyfriend and moved into a new apartment.

You would expect, in a just world, for misfortune to rain down upon such a terrible person. Instead, she got married and quickly had three kids.

"Where's Daisy living now?" Sheryl asked, innocently.

"I'm not in contact with her anymore," I said. My curt tone must have tipped Sheryl off, because she quickly changed the subject.

So even though I'm deliriously happy for Bina, the shower just rained down more reminders that I'm husbandless and childless. And that while I'm sad and lonely, women who don't deserve to be happy are.

I know that this kind of thinking is very bad for my mood, and I usually don't indulge myself in it. I'm trying hard to focus on the good things in my life -- getting into school, my family and friends. But it's not easy when I'm so unhappy about so many aspects of my life, and when it feels like my every effort to improve those aspects are just blocked at every step. I need to lose weight, but in the more than two months since I joined a gym and started training with personal trainers, I haven't lost an ounce -- but I did mess up my knees. Or, more accurately, the trainer I paid a ton of money messed up my knees.

I can only hope that my GP, Dr. Cool, will realize he misdiagnosed my knee problem the first time I saw him, and will look a little harder next time. And that he'll be able to guide me and my trainer in crafting a workout program that will actually help me lose some weight.
Copyright (c) 2006 "Ayelet Survivor"

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