I am one of those lonely old women. Days go by without seeing anyone. I turn off my phone; no one calls anyway.
I go to the grocery store. On those trips, I put up my facade and act like I matter. Sometimes I order delivery. I am polite while at the same time try to hurry the delivery man on his way. The talk disrupts my isolation -- my sense of comfort in the aloneness.
Somehow I accumulated three-and-a-half bottles of anxiety medicine -- close to a thousand pills. I informed the pa I did not need any more, but she had problems that day and ordered still more. The depression medication does not work like it should, even with a second medication added. I physically ache when I am depressed. I take an anxiety pill and sleep for three or four hours. I eat something. I try to watch tv or read. I take my nights meds and sleep more. The cycle goes on unbroken.
I harbor many regrets about my life. The guilt I carry weighs me down. I never forget what a failure I am, how I fell short in almost every facet of my life. How I wasted the chances I had. Maybe I punish myself for these sins.
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