I haven’t written in ages. I haven’t been able to. Why?

This year has been extremely challenging. Lots thrown at me. Tested my abilities on just about everything. And in the end, I, well, lost it.

It all started when I lost my job on January 31, 2025. Liked, but not loved what I was doing, but being a grant writer for an organization that helps victims of domestic violence is rewarding. Then, our president and his henchmen decided funding for said program wasn’t worth a hill’s worth of McDonald’s cheeseburgers. The program was cut, my position eliminated, and I found myself out on the street.

Never had a problem finding work before. However, with a record number of layoffs, the world’s greatest economy lying in tatters, I’ve yet to find work. My unemployment runs out in two weeks. My ex announced he’s going to cut my alimony in half. I’ve sent over 200 resumes out, had some interviews, and yet, nothing.

My saving grace usually is my social club. It’s an old-fashioned place, a holdover from the 1930s, where immigrants bought an old farm and built rustic cabins on communal property. Served as a country respite from New York City, with fresh air and a small swimming pond. Nowadays, the place is surrounded by busy suburbs, the pond is now a proper swimming pool, with the welcome addition of a hot tub. Cabins are all modernized, and it’s become a co-op membership organization. I have a comfortable room there, which gives me a place to go on the weekends. I run the kitchen in the summers, much to everyone’s delight (I’m a really good cook…no, really!). Lots of friends and many things to do on the weekends.

But the joy of being there seemed elusive this summer, for all sorts of reasons. Jobless, I endured everyone talking about their jobs. Single, I dealt with most people who are coupled up. On one particular evening, at a gathering at a friend’s cabin, I was the lone single woman, surrounded by couples. The conversations drifted away to the people surrounding me. I became an island, with no one to talk to. Got up and headed to my room. Sat alone in the darkness for hours, crying. On another occasion, I received five rejection emails in one day. I lost it then, too. But this time, a few friends came to my rescue, calming me down.

And what should’ve been an evening of great accomplishment, I lost it, once again. I coordinated a luau, inspired by my wintertime trip to Hawaii. Thought about this party for months. Planned the menu, envisioned the layout, bought the decorations. But sinister thoughts of self-doubt and unworthiness plagued me. I felt myself slipping away as we went shopping for the supplies. Inside Restaurant Depot, I fought like hell to stay sane as I chose pork butt and chicken thighs for the dishes I planned to prepare. Once back to the clubhouse kitchen, my friends asked me to join them for lunch. I didn’t have any money to spare, since unemployment pays a pittance. Beat myself up over the lack of funds and job prospects. Took it out on the pork butts, trimming the thick layers of fat with a hefty kitchen knife. By the evening, I seemed fine, even jovial, working with two other party partners. Somehow, returning to my room, I sunk back into terrible thoughts, drowning in doubt, erasing all sense of accomplishment.

The next day, luau prep shot into high gear. We had to decorate the place, do the final cooking, get everything ready for crowd we were expecting at 6:00 pm. My self slipped into high anxiety, so much so, I handed chef duties over to one of the party partners, herself quite accomplished in the kitchen. I couldn’t handle anything, but I kept going. Managed to get the family-style dinners out to 13 tables. Then someone came in to yank us out of the kitchen and face the diners and take a bow. I refused to go out, steadfastly saying that I didn’t do anything – it was the two other women who made all the arrangements, not me. When the crowd chanted my name and someone came in to fetch me, I ran and hid. Couldn’t take credit, even for a tiny bit. So filled with anxiety and self doubt was I that I couldn’t even function.

This is what went on in my head: you didn’t do anything, you don’t deserve credit. You can’t even find a job, let alone a boyfriend. You are a reject. Your life is not worth living. You contribute nothing to anything, anyone, anywhere. And it’s time to say goodbye. Forever. You goddam loser.

Two friends found me sobbing in the clubhouse, alone, once again, in the dark. Could not calm down. Contrast that by on the outside decks, there was an open bar serving pina coladas and mai tais, happy people stuck their heads through a screen bearing images of hula dancers, a limbo contest and a hula hoop contest, plus dancing. Everyone was having a marvelous time, saying it was the best ever party.

All I could think about was I wanted to die. End it all.

Someone walked me back to my room, calmed me down and made me tea. I managed to put my mind to rights enough to fall asleep, but not before worrying my friends. I didn’t care about them, only me, and I was sure they were only pretending to be concerned.

I came home, exhausted. My cheerful little cottage glowed in the bright afternoon sunlight, sparkling with optimism and hospitality. Even it tried to offer me comfort, but I wasn’t having it. I plopped onto the couch and stared at nothing, for hours. Evil thoughts relentlessly tormented me. I headed toward the kitchen and glanced at the knives. Then the oven. I dropped my head into my hands, standing there, trying to escape the nightmares playing on repeat.

In a brief moment of sanity, I called my doctor. Very quickly, she managed to get me the help I needed.

My first sessions with the therapist were painful at best. Why did I contemplate ending my life when I have a son to live for? A sister? Friends? I learned that anxiety robs a person of all logical thought and reason, but there’s a way out of it.

In my next blog, I’ll tell you more about how I’ve fought to save my own life, and rebuild it once again from scratch.