This Is 55

A Miracle

Author photo. 2024.

Last month I turned 55. I now qualify for some senior discounts, mostly at fast food places, according to a list that’s been circulating on Facebook. And in ten years, I can get more discounts! I’m even old enough to live in the 55+ condos near my therapist’s office I’ve been going to for twenty years.

When I was in my early twenties, I didn’t think I’d live past thirty. At the time, my life was all about sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll (I’d played in several bands since I was 15). It didn’t help that I had undiagnosed bipolar disorder. I’d had a lot more hypomanic episodes than I have since I started medication. In that state, I made lots of poor choices. Not that I don’t make poor choices now; they’re just not as poor.

That I’ve lived past thirty is a miracle to me every day, especially because of those times I no longer wanted to live, and made attempts on my life. I’ve been in and out of psych units for the past thirty years. Fortunately, my last stay was six years ago.

Some of my friends have passed away, and it brings home the idea of mortality. I’m probably at the age where I should write a will. But if I do, that idea becomes more real, and it seems like death would be that much closer.

Sometimes, I can’t believe I’ve made it this far. Despite the depressive episodes, I try to live my life one day at a time. Sometimes just an hour or even a minute at a time. But when I wake up each morning, I’m grateful to have another day.