Saturday Reflections - Dying alone

 NEWSFLASH: I'm going to die alone.

This isn't even a declaration or a prophecy or something I'm claiming. It's a conclusion that is completely evidence-based.

Using the available census data, as a black woman in her 40s the chance of me being married is 3%. That's a 97% failure rate. And luckily for me, each failure is loaded with complications, some deadly. If you wanted a 3rd eye (ie, something non-essential), and your doctor told you there's a 97% chance this will fail and there will be complications, what would a reasonable person to do? Live without the 3rd eye. 

So based on that, I vow to never use another dating app. I vow to never expect a man to ask me out. I vow to never put myself in a position for complications. I wanted to say I would stay open, but that is not something I can passively do. 

So Future Me, the hope chest is closed. Myth busted. You have all the data you ever need.

Do I reach out to Dan ever again? NO. This last couple weeks have given you all the DPs you need that reaching out to someone "as a friend" but that you secretly want to fall in love with you not only HAS NEVER worked (100% failure rate) but now you know in your 40s it increases your risk of a fatal outcome by 50%. Hard Pass (unless that's ultimately how you decide you want to end your life).

Do I delete my number? I really want to but the Negative in me will try to convince me despite all the evidence that somehow at some unknown date in the future, he will want to reach me for us to secretly fall in love. And because he doesn't have my number(s), he was unable to. But at this point I passively gave him my email, so...

But I reserve the right to change my mind if it becomes unbearable.

As for making friends. Yeah, that would be nice. I prefer women without kids. At my age, the percentage of women without kids is around 15%. And who is to say every single one of them will want to be my friend. I can get along with anyone but will anyone get along with me. Invoking my arbitrary magic number of 3. Let's say all 15 of them are in the same room. I like 1/3 of them. One-third of them like me. And 1/3 leave the party.  Um, this math ain't mathin! Haha. I was trying to find some sort of overlapping circle of people I like and who also like me. But that's too much thinking for this early. So let's just say it's a mutual match of 1/3. So that leaves 5 people out of every 100 people that I could be friends. So I'd have to meet 20 people to make 1 friend. So yeah, given the events of Newtown, I think I have a high likelihood of making at least 1 friend. This actually doesn't take into account the fact I'd have to meet 20 childfree people to make 1 friend.  But given the nomadic nature of the people I will be surrounded with in Newtown, I think I have a greater chance of meeting childfree people. 

So while 3 is my magic number, 1 is probably a more achievable number.

But at our age, that bosom friendship of childhood is unachievable - which is ultimately what I'm looking for. 

Rules for Life

I was trying to think through what the rules are moving forward. I was basing everything on the magic number of 3.

How many friends do I need to make?

How many times do I go out?

How many hobbies do I pursue?

How many times is acceptable to cry in a week?

It seemed really important last night (when I was trying to sleep) but less so right now.

I mostly have been reliving the last 8 months with White Male Therapist. And unfortunately, I'm bundling him in the Toxic Relationship bundle. He completely misguided me by encouraging me to stay in NC; encouraging me to date; and not listening to my feelings about how much I was still crying. For the experience of talking to a man, it was awful. It just added more data points for me about the downsides of male-female relationships. I just don't get it. Why choose a human who doesn't listen to you, doesn't make you feel heard? It's lost on me. 

Right now I feel free and empowered. But when the darkness comes I will feel unempowered and disenfranchised.

I'm having second thoughts about the anti-depressant. Frugalwoods was having trouble enjoying the life she wanted. That's kind of been my contention with depression. I reserve the right to be unhappy about living in prison if I feel wrongly convicted. An anti-depressant isn't going to change my circumstance. So, yeah, I don't know what I'm going to do when the medication comes. 

When I have something to enjoy or something I think I'm missing out on, maybe I'll take it. 

I have been wondering what exactly is the point of moving. And honestly I don't have one. Other than maybe spend down my money.

There's nothing achievable left for me to pursue. But we've been here. This is ultimately the strongest case of staying in Death House.

But I'm leaving Death House. This we know for certain. 

What would you tell an 80 year old who has done everything they set out to do? I could try to re-parent myself. That's essentially what people my age with kids are doing. It's like their fun little hobby. Basically redoing their 0-18 years. And then they wait around to become grandparents, to watch the movie all over again.

That's really all life across the entire animal kingdom. So the case for prolonging life is lost on me. Get me out of here! This ride is not fun!