I lived with PTSD for 40 years, after molestation by a Catholic priest at age five. Read my story as I write it here through 2015.

This is a True Story

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Saturday, January 28, 2017

While I get old, instead of bemoaning aging, I'm embracing it.

While I get old, instead of bemoaning aging, I'm embracing it. In the 1970s I was a hippie, in the ‘80s I dressed for success, being a single mom dominated two decades, and now I'm a little old lady. I have a funny hobble to my walk and my voice squeaks, I must look quizzical from the way people look back at me. My hair is receding and bright white, the missing teeth create crevices in my cheeks.
I see other women my age doing cosmetic things to make themselves look younger, I don't know how Hillary gets her hair that color. A lot of women get surgery, you can tell by the look of constant surprise on their faces. (And HD cameras make those surgically enhanced faces look horrible, which is to me, instant justice.)
Why fight it? Aging is part of life.
I get to make people laugh with a wisecrack when I goof up in public now. No one gets mad at an old lady who’s taking too long to get on the bus, try that in your forties and see what happens.
My home is so much more comfortable today than any other home I've ever had, because I spend so much more time inside it. I live in a small space, but that's perfect, because I can hold onto one piece of furniture after another as I hobble my way across the room.
 I don't know why people don’t like getting old, when you consider the alternative. I'm still here. I'm still alive and life as a human on Earth is still fascinating.
 I seem to be happier than I've been in years now that I'm just diving into old age and enjoying it.