noticing aging

I am 58.  I won't turn 59 until August but yesterday, the thought came to me "59 this year".  Fifty nine is a skip to 60.  Old. Not decrepit, but old.

In this past year, I have noticed that some people, many, seem to respond to me differently. I've been fat a long time so I am used to being invisible or erased by lots of folks.  Quite a lot of humans blank out fat women. Some folks see fat people and feel angry.A few will even make insulting comments, even if they not only don't know you but have no reason to be interesting with you. That anger seems especially sad to me.

I have been at countless conferences, various events, where there is a large opening circle where everyone gets to at least say hello to everyone else. And in such circles, every single time, I have picked out the folks, usually men, who don't see me because I am a fat woman and a fat woman, to them, to many, has zero value. A fat women to such people doesn't just have zero value sexually; she has zero value in every way. It's a sad, odd thing, especially as studies are showing that people are not fat because they overeat.  Fat is a health condition, no more a person's choice than Parkinson's. But for some reason, we blame fat people for being fat. I blame fat being for being fat. I blame myself.

Aging is a bit like being fat, in the sense that some people either don't see me at all or they erase me when they do.  I began to notice this about a year ago. It's probably been happening longer. But I particularly noticed it because of one 'young' white male adult who lives in my apartment building. I am guessing this 'young' guy is thirty something, maybe late thirties, maybe not.  He seems to be well educated, hip, intelligent, interesting. He is funny, talkative, warm, personable. I met him at a community meeting for the building. I liked him.  He seemed to like me.

I don't really socialize with any of my neighbors. But I have developed some friendly connections to some of them.  I know their names, their families,some of their life story. We continued swapping life stories in small snatches of interaction. Friendly.

So when I met this young white male, I assumed that he and I would develop, at least, this same famliarity. Oh, another way I interact with neighbors in my building that I 'know', is that when I run into them around Berkeley, we greet one another. We certainly greet one another in the elevator.

But this young white guy doesn't seem to see me.  I have stood in the elevator, a very small space, and been surprised to see him light up as he warmly greens others in the elevator. But not me.  At first I thought maybe he is instinctly attracted to connecting with blacks more than whites.  Gradually, however, I have figured out that he does not see me as a potential friend cause I appear old to him. Old as in completely uninteresting. He is not being rude.  He doesn't see me because he does not see me as a being who could possibly have anything interesting to say to him.

I met this guy about two years ago. I see him more often, I think, than anyone else in my building.  I run into him all over Berkeley. And he never greets me. I have seen him light up into a smile to say hello to other neighbors. Young ones.

A few days ago, I saw him at the dollar store in downtown Berkeley. I was buying some plasatic bags to store wool, to protect wool clothing from moths. I passed him several times in the store. We checked out at the same time. We walked home in the same direction, of course, cause we live in the ame building. I didn't expect him to walk home with me, but with virtually any other neighbor, we would have chatted as we stood alongside one another waiting for lights to change, or as we walked in the same cross walks at the same time.  I paid close attention. If he had given me any signal that he was aware of me, I was ready to make friendly eye contact, to nod hello or say hello or remark on the sunshine or something.

But this guy never looked at me. It felt like I was invisible to him.

At first, when I first became aware that he was blocking me out, I made an effort to greet him. He would respond politely but clearly had zero interest in me. But I have seen him show warm, high friendly interest in others in the building.

I am pretty sure it is age. I am pretty sure he sees a boring old lady.

I am many flawed things.  I am not a contributing member of society.  I am poor, disabled, lonely.  I don't have much to offer anyone.  Now I have a new way to measure my lack of value.  I am old.

I don't like being erased for being old. Everyone is going to be old. How can people ignore someone just cause they look older than themselves? Have I done this? Probably.

Another thing I have begun to notice.  I spot other old, poor, lonely women out in the world. I see them, often shabbily or oddly dressed, often appearing not to have showered recently.  These old, poor, lonely women don't seem to pay much attention to their surroundings and they don't seem to expect anyone surrounding them to pay any attention to them.  I'd bet these odd, disheveled old women are lonely. And they are me.  I am one of them.

My life has mostly sucked.  I loved raising my daughter but as soon as she could she left me.  My future looks so bleak. I am so lonely I can't stand it.  Things are not going to get better.  All I have going on are medical appointments. I have one today. I have one tomorrow. I have spent every holiday since my daughter left me alone. Every single one. I'm just marking time, waiting to die because suicide is supposed to be wrong.

I could join a senior center.  I could get a social worker to find me a volunteer friend. Gosh, I could play bingo.

I don't want this life.  I am working up the energy to take my life. It takes a lot of work to do this. I have made a few lame attempts about ten years ago when I first lost Katie. Then I spent a year stockpiling a class A narcotic so I would be sure to take myself out. It takes time to score enough drug. Docs will only give you a month supply at a time, of course, and I don't have the money to buy a year's worth.

The only reason I haven't done it already is because the very worst thing that has happened to me so far was to be very serious and make a planned, serious attempt and to fail is the worst thing that has ever happened to me so far. Wakng up and realizing I had failed sucked.  It took me months to swim past that painful anger. I can't fuck it up this time. This time, I have to succeed.

I have something that would get the job done. But I don't have the needed resolve. that's my work right now.

How can it be wrong to end a worthless life? It is romantic nonsense that humans tell themselves every life has value and meaning.  Lots of people's lives have no value or meaning.

There is an Asian homeless guy who basically lives on my block. He sleeps in the outdoor lobby of the movie theater net door. Lately he has talked to me. I have passed him several times a day for three years and suddenly he talked to me, as if it had finally registered with him that we inhabit the same space. I was walking past him the other day, just after he had put his bedding away for the day. It was late morning, the theater in the shade. He said, speaking in a normal, friendly neighbor tone, "I am waiting for the sun to reach me." That statement made lots of sense. It was chilly in the shade. But he could have just walked a few steps and been in the sun. It's been weirdly dry here. Usually it rains a lot this time of year but lately it's been sunny sunny sunny.  I love the sunniness. When this guy said this, I had been thinking "I should have walked home on the other side of the street, I'd have remained in the sunshine." So when he said he was waiting for the sun, I thought I knew what he meant. He was waiting to feel the sun, to enjoy it, to be a little warmer.

I wanted to stop and ask him why is he homeless, and how is he doing.  He keeps many stacks of paper coffeecups, from Peets. These stacks of cups are dirty. I don't think he would ever drink from them. And why would he keep 100 soiled coffee cups?  It's hard for him to hang onto things. He has no place to put anything. He has to haul everything he owns everywhere he goes. Why those soiled paper cups?

He seems normal. Friendly. Happy. And fairly young. Maybe forty? How long has he lived this way? Does he see any different path in his future?

I will never sleep on the street, all my belongings in a shopping cart. How do people who live like that go on?  I have a very nice apartment, furnished just fine.  I have money for all my needs.  I can't imagine how that guy goes on.  I have many things he does not have.

I want to end my life.