Dear Diary…
What the hell is going on?
I know the last time you heard from me, I was 14, that bitch Jennifer stole the cute boy Jamie from me, and I wished death upon her. Well, a lot has changed since then.
And what a fucking ride this has been. Life goes by so fast.
But I don’t want to talk about the last 49 years of my life. May as well write a book (I should do that, anyway). I want to talk about what’s happening now, and honestly, most days, I have no idea what the hell is going on in my life.
Am I supposed to have it all figured out by now? Am I supposed to be a well put-together adult?
I don’t, and I’m not. Aging is weird and confusing. It’s also a little scary.
Did you know…?
I want to preface with this…
No one told me aging was going to be frustrating, complicated, depressing and liberating all at the same time. Why didn’t anyone talk about this? Ever? I don’t get it. I mean, this is a fairly important time in my life. Shouldn’t there have been more reading material on this?
🟡Your body changes
Dear Diary;
So listen, your body does some really messed-up things, for no reason, out of the blue. Like one day, you’re dancing up a storm, jumping out of bed, excited for life. The next day, you’re trying to figure out why your legs hurt so much, you roll out of bed and head straight to the medicine cabinet for a painkiller and an Ibuprofen.
Such bullshit.
You’re not excited about too much these days. Maybe a day without pain? Now, that’s something to celebrate!
Parts hurt, walking is a chore, and can we talk about that poor dry petunia? Wait, let’s not. That’s the depressing part.
The liberating part? You have no more fucks to give about anything, ever, and the whole world understands. It’s wonderful.
🟡What’s my mind doing?
Dear Diary;
I don’t know. And this is the part that scares me. At what point can you self-diagnose early-onset dementia? What is normal forgetfulness?
I have to read things, the same sentence, 2 or 3 times, to make sure I understand all the words and that I read it correctly. I have to check the instructions to make sure I understand them. I have to triple-check the stove to make sure every element is turned off, and let’s not forget how many times I check to make sure the front door is locked before I go to bed. Ooph.
What is that? Why is this happening? Is this cognitive decline? Is this the start of Alzheimer’s?
That runs in the family, by the way, and I’m none too thrilled about that.
There are days my anxiety level is through the roof. I don’t want to go out. Will I be able to drive my scooter without crashing into anything? Will I remember to signal and make sure I drive the right way down the one-way street and stop at the red light? My anxiety says I won’t.
Why? Why is this happening to me?
🟡 Oh no you don’t!
Dear Diary;
You can’t eat the things you used to eat when you were younger. Your body will remind you that you are over 60. Pizza? Cookies? Sugary cereal? White bread? You know. All the shitty foods we love.
You can’t eat any of those after 60. Oh. I mean, physically, of course, you can, BUT you shouldn’t. Hello, inflammation, pain, wrinkles and anxiety. I mean, eating any of those foods we used to enjoy completely wreaks havoc on your entire being, inside and out.
Such fun.
I know, I know. They’re all bad for you anyway and we shouldn’t be eating them. Why do they make them then?
Did you know that sugar is the devil? Why did it take them so long to figure that out? I feel like that’s something they should have looked into back then.
🟡 Take me back
Dear Diary;
How many years? It doesn’t matter. I’m not ready to age. I want to go back 20 years, 10 years, hell, even 5 years. So much has changed in 5 years, and I’m shocked at how quickly it all happens.
Let’s go back to the time I hated Jennifer. I promise to be a nicer person.
I’m not sure I can do this aging thing alone.
🟡 People are exhausting
Dear Diary;
I used to be a social butterfly. Light up a room with my charming personality and bright light. I loved people, and they loved me back.
Now? If I died on this planet alone with cats and dogs, I would die a happy woman. People get on my nerves. A lot. I can’t handle conversations. I don’t give a shit about their drama or how shitty their lives are or how much they hate their spouses.
I d.g.a.f. — seriously. Shut up.
They talk too much about things that never matter at the end of the day. It’s exhausting. I don’t want or need friends. I have cats and street dogs.
People are overrated.
🟡I live alone — is that ok?
Dear Diary;
I don’t know. Should I live with someone? I love living alone, and at the same time, I wish I had someone here to make sure I’m ok. Am I ok? I think so.
I mean, I can function normally. I can shower, dress myself, brush my teeth, and cook healthy meals. I’m doing great. I’m writing this without help, so surely I’m ok. But for how long? 6 months? 6 years? 26 years? My mom started her decline at the age of 65.
That’ll be in 2 more years for me.
Am I ok here alone in Guatemala? And if so, for how much longer? Is someone going to have to pick me up and bring me back to Canada, kicking and screaming, and throw me in long-term care? I hope not. I hope it never gets to that.
Put a pillow over my face, please.
🟡 Aging is weird
Dear Diary;
I’ve said it a million times, and I’ll keep saying it until I die or can no longer speak — aging is weird. I think I want to write a manual about it while I can still write, to help future generations understand all the weird changes that will happen.
Mind you, I don’t have much hope for the upcoming generations. I’m afraid for their futures, to be honest. They’ll all be microchipped, vaxxed up the ass (not literally, but then again, who knows?), and hiding in their bubbles with mobile devices permanently attached to their bodies.
You know, to make life easier.
🟡Self-confidence is kinda cool
Dear Diary;
For my entire life, I had little. Always self-conscious about how I looked, what I wore, who liked me, who hated me. Always trying to please people and get people to like me. You remember. I told you all the time.
Now? Phfft.
I’ll wear whatever I want as long as I am comfortable and feel good because at this age, comfort is a priority. I’ve even been known to dash off to the corner store in my jammies. Do I care? Not one single bit, and you know what? The people here don’t give a shit either.
I sure love Guatemala.
Man, I’ve come a long way, right? I mean, from a broken, beaten down and broke woman in Canada to this amazing, freeing life in Guatemala. Didn’t see that coming. Did you?
Life is weird.
🟡I don’t recognize myself
Dear Diary;
It’s not so much my face or how I look. I mean, sure, there are wrinkles, my cheeks are falling, and my body, well, let’s not go there. It’s my mind, my thought-process, the way I feel and think about things these days — my attitude has changed. A lot!
I’m a different person, and I don’t recognize this new Iva.
Like, I don’t care about too much these days. I don’t have the energy to make friends or be with people. I don’t watch or listen to the news because it’s all so depressing and negative, so you could say that my head is in the sand and I’m ok with that.
What I like about this is that there’s freedom in not caring or worrying. You just go about your day, living your life, doing random things, finding things that bring you joy, and then you go to sleep.
It’s kinda cool.
🟡 But I have a warning — I need to let people know something…
Not just any ‘people’ — the young people. Under 30, 40, even 50.
I want to grab them, shake them and yell:
“Life is short! Get off your fucking phone and go see the world, be a nice human being, help others, spread love and compassion, be forgiving and take in every second of every day because one day you’ll wake up and realize you’re old and you didn’t do the things you wanted to do because you were too busy on your phone chasing things, success, money, validation and respect. You are going to wake up one day and you’re going to be 60, 70, 80 and you’re going to be filled with sadness and regret because you wasted your fucking life.”
If only they knew just how short life really is. But they won’t listen. They’ll just say, “ Oh, all you old people say that,” and giggle and walk away.
It’s not funny.
🟡 So now what?
That’s the million-dollar question. What happens next? The next few years. I know it ain’t gonna get any better, but I’d love to know how much worse it will get.
Should I have a 5-year plan or something in place? I hope not because I can’t even plan what to have for dinner tonight. Trying to plan for my future sounds exhausting and hard.
Dear Diary, do you know what would make my life so much easier right now? No, really. I’m asking you because I have no clue, and I’m literally just winging it day in and day out. I’m not so sure that’s such a good idea.
The conclusion I’ve come to
Dear Diary;
And because I have no answers, actually, no one does, not even ChatGPT (trust me, I checked), I’ve decided to just make the most out of every single day and try to do a lot of things that make my heart happy.
I take more time to play with my cats. I spend more time with the street dogs than I used to. I even take naps whenever I feel like it.
I still have to work, but I’m not a slave to it anymore. I’m not grinding myself to an early grave. Nope. I have balance now in my life, something I never used to have.
Weird, right? Balance. Who knew?
I’m not going to consume myself with the fear of dementia, old age, loneliness and illness. When those thoughts do creep up, I take a few deep breaths and remember to be here now. I know, sounds so cliché, but it works. Living in fear of growing old is one sure way to make sure you grow old fast.
Hard pass.
I just want to enjoy life and face each challenge as it arises with an open mind and humour.
Because dear diary, this life? It’s all I have, and it’s up to me to make the most of every single day.
xo iva xo
