Wow. This is long. I’m sorry. Stream of consciousness is my only excuse.

This will probably infuriate people. It’s one of the reasons why I can’t talk to people about it. I’d be incensed if I was someone else listening to my whining about having too much.

Too much of what?

Well….everything.

I’m 47, married for 27 years as of this Saturday. My husband is the best (more on that coming up). We have 2 kids, 24 and 19, both of whom I love, one of whom I like. I haven’t worked in 25 years because….well, because I don’t need to. We have money. This is one of the problems. (Irritated yet? Just wait.)
Our house is large and in a very prestigious neighborhood although we know no one here after 10 years. The snobbery makes it super unfriendly. We moved from the aggressive north to the passive aggressive south,
We have traveled extensively – everywhere from a month in Japan to impromptu weekends in London. We cruise several times a year. Monthly, we have a meetup in a different city with a group of our friends. We attend shows at least once a week, pre-COVID. Losing this part of my life from the pandemic really affects me.
I’m bipolar but it has been fairly well controlled these last 4 years since I got off all the pain meds from my accident years before. I was high or sick for roughly 9 years and only my husband knows about any of it. Over the last few years, I have lost 101lbs. and feel so much better mentally but I’m ashamed of this now-saggy body. You can’t win.
My oldest son is also bipolar and raising him nearly broke me (the drugs were definitely used an an escape from that daily hell of an existence). He was one of those children who did terrible things – cops were called when violence erupted, psychiatric hospital stays were normal, suspensions from school were common. After puberty, he mellowed out so much that he’s off all his meds and is the most even-tempered, hard-working person I know. There’s still a resentment towards him that I can’t shake (my husband admits the same) though we try to hide it. It’s very hard to simply forgive and forget what he put us through but I know that mental illness and I know what it’s like. I should be better about moving past those bad years. I sometimes wonder if his issues weren’t piled on top of resentment I already had: we had a townhouse in the city and I had a job I loved. When we were *surprised* with him, we bought a house, I left my job and started a life as a SAHM that I never wanted to live. Who would I have been if not for him? How can I possibly think that of my own child?
My youngest is wonderful. He’s brilliant (he speaks 3 languages and plays 4 instruments), he’s kind and generous with his compliments and emotions, which I am not. He is also gay which, frankly, is terrific. We go to shows together, get pedicures, go on shopping excursions, fancy dinners – I highly recommend having a gay son! His boyfriend is really nice. The 2 of them have an apartment 3 hours away since COVID closed down their college. I miss him.
My husband….what can I say? He works from home so we’re together all the time and have been for almost 20 years. We talk and talk and talk all day, every day. For 32 years we’ve been together, there’s never been a day when we haven’t had a laugh or a great conversation. Silence isn’t a thing here. He does everything: laundry, dishes – anything at all. Unfailingly thoughtful, romantic, understanding, appreciative and supportive; that’s my husband. He’s a great dad, terrific lover and my staunchest ally. He bought me a car for Christmas with the big red bow – THAT bow from all the Christmas car commercials I always laughed at. He tells me every day that I’m beautiful and sexy to the point that it irritates me. On my weight loss, he can’t say enough about how proud he is of me. This, too, bugs me. That I have a handle on my mental illness and kicked painkiller addiction makes him effusive with praise.
He thinks I’m wonderful.

I am not wonderful.

In light of ALL of this great stuff, I am bored, unsatisfied and almost incapable of processing gratitude. Infuriating, right? I know. It bugs me, too.
My manic side kicks in around people so I have very few friends (my husband is one of those people that everyone likes. I’m not.) I can’t maintain interest in a hobby or a project. How many times have I started something like cleaning out the attic that my husband had to quietly finish doing because I got overwhelmed and just avoided it? Too many to count. That’s an issue, too. If I don’t want to do a thing, I don’t. He’ll do it. SOMEONE will do it because they’re good, kind people who want to show love and support. I’m just…lazy.  Why don’t I feel the same level of commitment to making their lives better? Why is this even acceptable to them? In all of these years, I have never cooked a meal that wasn’t greeted with enthusiasm and thanks. Even as little ones, my kids ate everything and said thank you. My husband insists every meal is delicious and this irritates me.
I am consistently told that I am beautiful, smart, talented, funny and loved. Why does this bother me? How DARE it be irksome? With countless people desperate for love and affection, who suffer abuse or isolation or selfish partners – how dare I be miffed that I have too much?
I don’t want to imply that there’s no honesty here. We talk a lot. A LOT. He’s the type to gently suggest that some things could use a little bit more of our attention to fine-tune whereas I’d say that I was ticked off and someone needs to fix it. He gets up first to make coffee, changes the sheets, vacuums, takes conference calls (he’s an executive Vice President at the HQ of a very large bank). I….read the news. Play a video game. I often go to the grocery store more our of boredom than anything.
I think I might be angry that he just accepts this behavior from me. I throw him crumbs and he acts like it’s a feast.
But, if I’m really honest, I know that this isn’t the life I was meant to lead. I was supposed to have a career, not kids, I was supposed to have adventure and not security. I was supposed to be so much more than just a pampered ingrate in a gated neighborhood with a Big Red Bow car.

Why can’t I do something else, you ask?  I got a degree, just for fun. I couldn’t get a real job after being home for so long and I simply cannot being myself to work with teenagers or retirees. My bipolar brain makes me inconsistent with commitments and a job, much as I want one, will go about as well as my volunteer efforts have. Read: not well. I’m one of those know-it-all, take-over-every-room kind of people and I cannot help it no matter how hard I try.

My mother got cancer and died at 55. She was such a good person who would have loved to have the husband and kids that I do. She would have reveled in not being broke or having to do everything without a hope of praise of thanks. What happens when the doctors tell me I have 4 months left and I realize what I have frittered away? How can I be grateful now and not irritated? How can I bring my forces to bear in a way that’s useful to others but not maddening to them, too? How do I figure out what I want to do and stick to it?
I’m a liberal, anti-trump atheist in the south so not every volunteer organization is the right fit 🙂 Ok, none of them have been.
I couldn’t stand me if I were those other people. How do I change that?

summary: I’m an indulged bipolar middle aged woman with no purpose and too much time, good fortune and money on her hands and I feel so marginalized in my own life.

whew. Thanks for reading this, if you made it this far. Sorry for making you see red.