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Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Experience · #2320645
I think this will be my final story about me. My self administered therapy is over.
Some people say that once you hit fifty it’s all downhill from there. Other’s say that from fifty onward will be the best years of your life. I think that at fifty-seven I agree with the optimists.

Looking back, I feel like I’ve lived many lives in my fifty-seven years. I’ve lived a life of being a child, onto being a teenager, moved onto motherhood, from there college. After that I watched my children grow into adults and start families of their own.

Between my childhood and my teenage years my family transitioned from traditional to single parent. However, my father remained an active part in my life.

Somehow I survived my teenage years. At sixteen I was in a relationship with a young man seven years older than me.

Unfortunately, even though I was sixteen and he was twenty-three I was the more mature one and could see that the relationship was going nowhere.

A year later my mother came out as a lesbian. It wasn’t really a big shock, as I had realized and accepted the fact long before she was ready to come out of the closet.

I became a wife at 19 and had my first child 10 months later. A month before my twenty-fifth birthday my only daughter and third child was born. I stopped having children after that.

My marriage lasted almost eight years. I will say it was a rocky marriage at best however I’m the one responsible for it coming to an end. During the time that my husband was overseas I became friends with another woman and ended up falling in love with her. Our relationship lasted, on and off for around six years.

While waiting for the divorce to become final, I started college at age twenty-eight. I consider this one of the best lives that I have lived. Although I majored in Psychology, my passion became literature and writing. I couldn’t get enough. I graduated with honors and an award in English.

At thirty-two my children were twelve, nine and seven. We all lived with my mother and grandmother in my grandmother’s house.

My grandmother unfortunately went deeper into the rabbit hole of Alzheimer’s, and we had to place her in a nursing facility. It just so happened that the facility that we placed her in was the same facility where my mother, my youngest son, my father, and I all worked. My daughter volunteered whenever she could.

The next couple of lives were hard ones. After my grandmother’s death my mother and I bought and then lost her house.

For three years following that we moved four times. During these years my oldest son got married to his first wife, moved out, joined the military and had a son while he was overseas.

When we lost the fourth place to live my father offered his house for us to live in. Since his retirement he had relocated to an island town on the east coast, so his main house was sitting empty.

Even without paying rent we struggled. We were living on my mother’s social security, and I wasn’t working. This was when my bipolar disorder really started affecting me and my behavior became erratic.

Due to my uncontrolled spending on useless things, we were always having utilities cut off. I wish I could blame everything on my disorder, but the hard truth is that I made my choices even though I knew they were wrong.
My next life began with a tragedy. My father had a motorcycle accident that left him crippled. He had to sell the house that we were living in.

During this crisis my youngest son moved out and into his girlfriend’s parent’s house with her. This left my mother, whose health was in a steep decline, my daughter and I to fend for ourselves.

The house was sold and the three of us became homeless. We lived for a couple months in a shelter until it closed for the season and the three of us split up. My mother moved in with a friend until my youngest son took her to live with him. My daughter also moved in with a friend and I moved into a tent with a sociopathic narcissist that was also an alcoholic and drug addict.

Shortly after moving into the tent, I sought treatment for bipolar disorder. I was put on medications and went into therapy to deal with what I was going through with my partner. The relationship lasted seven years before I found the courage to end it. The therapy lasted three years longer.

This brings me to the life that I’m living now. What I consider, even with the occasional hiccup, the best time of my life.

I have five beautiful grandchildren, three boys and two girls, that range in age from seventeen to eight. True my boys and their families and don’t live close; one is in Germany and the other is in Georgia. My grandchildren are my world.
My daughter and I still live in the same town where my life began so we spend almost every day together.

Three years ago, the twenty-three-year-old young man that I dated when I was sixteen and I found each other again. It hasn’t been an easy relationship seeing as he lives three hours away.

On top of that, I fight with PTSD from the narcissist which in itself has caused problems. The relationship between us has stopped and started several times.

Thankfully he has grown to be a patient and understanding man. He’s the one that gently pointed out how PTSD was affecting me and my behavior. Once again I’ve started working on becoming a better me.

With everything in my life now falling into line I have rediscovered my voice and have found my passion for writing. Since I no longer see a professional therapist I use my words as my therapy.
I can honestly say that I am now living the best life that I’ve ever lived.

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