What are you doing tonight? What I mean is, what are you doing for New Years? The great celebration of New Year’s Eve. It is great, isn’t it?
I’m not so convinced, but then you could just say I’m old, down on myself and I have few friends to spend it with. Any number of those might or might not be true, but for a long time now, I have been less than impressed by the ‘great’ New Year’s celebrations. Please, can’t we just skip to February and carry on as if nothing is different?
New Year celebrations are great if you’re twenty-something, physically and mentally healthy, have money in your purse, have mountains of people you want to spend that occasion with, and while I’m at it, you’re probably an extrovert.
Am I any of those things? The short answer is no. And perhaps that’s my excuse for planning to go to bed tonight, at the usual time (early by most people’s standards) and if I wake (get woken) up at any time while it’s still dark, my cat, Hobbes will have a lot of explaining to do simply because he’s the usual culprit (other than just normal insomnia).
Before I go on, it’s important to point out just what would happen if I didn’t do that, if I stayed up until 12.05am, or even say, 2am. I would be very likely to spend at least the next few days in bed in an unreasonable amount of pain, not to mention fatigue. And my brain would turn even mushier than usual (brain fog).
It’s just not worth it to stay up that late and have a change of routine. I have to spend too many days in bed as it is, the last thing I want is self-inflicted New Year celebration pain/fatigue/numerous other symptoms.
Health has been a determining factor in New Year activities for more time than it should. But that’s not about to end. My chronic illness is in it for the long haul. But even before that, I struggled with this occasion.
It’s really hard to celebrate yet another year when you’re suicidal. It’s even harder when mental illness has turned life to hell and getting through the next day seems impossible without facing 365 more days. It’s just not even a bad joke. It’s beyond thinking to consider that another year is ahead, and because you might be depressed in amongst other illnesses, you can’t bear to have another year like the one you’ve just had.
I saw a meme on Facebook yesterday that loudly proclaimed that 2018 would be a better year. Really? Who said? How do you know that 2018 will be a better year? Yes, I guess we can hope. And hope is all important, especially on this occasion, but what if 2018 is a worse year? Who’s to say it won’t be?
In her (and my) younger years, my mother used to like greeting her family first thing on New Year’s Day morning with a chirpy “Happy New Year”. That’s fair enough, isn’t it? I should add that she wasn’t out late celebrating the night before, and she didn’t drink so wasn’t nursing a hangover.
Lots of people will be saying ‘Happy New Year’ on Monday. I admit that I cringe every time I hear it. The first year I was suffering from Major Depressive Disorder and was quietly (I mean I hadn’t admitted it to my parents even though I was staying at their home) desperately suicidal she was a bit stuck. And so for the next following years (too many to count), she would skip the “Happy New Year” and give me a “Well, I hope next year is better than last”. You can’t argue with her thinking, but I didn’t want to even know I was facing another year. “Mum, can’t we just skip this and get on with breakfast?”
My mother hoped that the next year would be better, and I can look back and be thankful that she hoped on my behalf because hope was completely beyond me. It’s funny (okay, well not really at all) that I am left thinking about the year ahead in terms of both my mother and myself. This time I need to hold the hope for her.
I can say with certainty that because of Alzheimer’s Disease, 2018 won’t be easy on Mum. It’s a disease that just keeps getting worse. There’s no chance of recovery and there’s no chance that 2018 will be a better year than the one we’ve just had. The disease will continue to destroy her, bit by bit. There will be less and less of a functioning brain. How do you celebrate New Year when that is ahead of you?
My hope for Mum is that her suffering is eased by the love of those around her, even those who she no longer knows. My hope is that she won’t feel alone or scared. My hope is that she will have peace.
I’m inclined to think that those hopes were something of what Mum has hoped for me, particularly in my many years of disabling mental illness. What is sad is that Mum and I didn’t have, in those years, a relationship in which she could share that with me. We weren’t close, and she and I both knew that much of what she might try to say usually ended in harsh words. It was safer to keep the silence between us. Thankfully, our relationship has changed, although too late to have those conversations.
Mum no longer comprehends that I struggle with illness of any sort. When I can’t visit her, I tell her why but she doesn’t remember the past years nor the journey I have been on. That’s probably a good thing (if any good can be found in her suffering). Maybe it means that she can join in the New Year celebrations at the dementia care facility where she lives. If she can have hopes, maybe she can hope that 2018 is better for both of us. She doesn’t understand that illness deems that unlikely.
But hey, if you’re going out to celebrate New Year with friends or family, have fun. Be safe. And take a moment to think about what you hope for in 2018.
I leave you with a quote. I read this today and was inspired by it. Maybe you will be too. I guess it is my hope for myself for the coming year. To be nobody but myself in 2018.
“To be nobody but yourself in a world
which is doing its best day and night to make you like
everybody else means to fight the hardest battle
which any human being can fight and never stop fighting.”
― E.E. Cummings
Thanks for reading