Tale as Old as Time: The Mercilessness of Time and the Tragedy of Ageing

Have you ever wondered why there are such high rates of elder abuse at rest homes, but the rates of child abuse at the same rest homes are much lower? Or do you wonder why the enchanted mirror said Snow White was the fairest of them all even though Charlize Theron is a perfect 10? I'm sad to report that we,, as a society,, live in a society.

A society that  h a t e s  old people.

And I'm not just talking about people over the age of 100 here. Society's ageism applies to anyone who no longer fits into the youthful ideals of physical beauty. But ageism doesn't stop there. This situation is more similar to the Two-Pronged Attack Yu-Gi-Oh card than it is to literally anything else. Ageism is far more apparent for women than it is for men, which creates something of an ageism-sexism axis. 'Sexageism', or 'agesexism': two terms that I just now made up, pretty much describe the unfortunate fate of any woman who;

a) dares to be born, and:

b) has the n e r v e to grow older than age 35

I feel like I am exactly the perfect person to write about this. As a woman, I know what it is like to be a woman. And as a 24 year old, I know basically everything else. 

Studies show* that the older a person becomes, the less beautiful they are perceived by people in all age brackets. This is pretty aptly demonstrated in James Cameron's famous mockumentary, Titanic, where Rose, a beautiful young fire-starter, tragically ages 84 years, while in typical patriarchal form, the male character of the movie never ages, and stays young and beautiful (albeit dead) forever. In the distressing conclusion of the movie it is revealed that we, the viewers, were the old lady from Titanic all along. 

When I turned 24 I had the peculiar feeling that I was slightly older than I was when I was 23.  I got scared. I felt like Benjamin Button in reverse. I knew the end was nigh for me so I went straight to the Countdown skincare section and bought one of everything. I was determined to stay young. I wanted to be the real life Peter Pan. I refused to give the haters what I knew they wanted most of all: The opportunity to target me with their sexist, ageist ideologies, and cast me to the fringes of society, where I would live out the rest of my days knitting scarves to cover my hideous, ageing face. 

But in my quest to be forever young I had a realisation. In my efforts to evade the pressures of society, I had unwittingly done the very thing that society had been pressuring me to do. Somehow, by attempting to defy societal expectations, I had fully conformed to those expectations. I had been buying into --literally 'buying': skincare ain't cheap :''''( --  the idea that there is something wrong with the natural process of getting older. Is it possible that to truly disregard society, and oppose the ageism, I should instead embrace my ageing? Nobody knows!!!. But it takes an empowered woman to throw caution into the river, and age gracefully. And at the young and impressionable age I am at currently, I am just not ready to brave the callous world without multi-active anti-ageing facial serum. So for the next 10 years you can find me in the Countdown skincare section, crying into a face mask  :''''''''(

*probably

Why Must I Suffer in Endless and Unrelenting Torment Until I Eventually Die and Other Tales

Me @ My Childhood

Chapter 1. Why Was I Born?

At my previous job, about 5 months ago, I was standing at the bathroom sink: mentally preparing to go to the interview for my current job and attempting to brush my teeth with a wet wipe. Then, all at once, with the violent abruptness of a piano falling from the top of a 15 storey high-rise, I was wholly consumed with feelings of unadulterated misery and emotional disquiet.

"Jobs", or as I call them: ''Carpet-weavers, Morocco' imagined'  are something of a double edged sword. Yes, you need them in order to get that $cash money$, but seriously: at. what. cost.?

Trading in my precious youth at a job I hate just to make enough money to put food on the table for my future illegitimate child so that they can grow up to get their own job that they hate ???? It is a literal nightmare of unyielding proportions. 

Worse than the job itself, though, is the job interview - a shameless charade in which one must convince someone that they want to be hired for a job that they don't even want. Never do I feel more like I am selling my soul to 'The Man' than when I am citing my attention to detail and unabating dedication to the menial. It is a ceaseless cycle of despair, and one that I will be trapped in until my best years are behind me, and I'm more ""Grandmother Willow"" than I am ""Little Mermaid"". 

And so, at that moment, standing in that bathroom, I was struck by the question: truly, what is this hellish thing we call existence, and w h y must I be a part of it?

Chapter 2. Reflection

Sometimes, I reflect on my childhood: a joyous time when my future seemed as bright as the blinding white light of the sun - kind of like when you accidentally open the lid of a photocopier when it is still mid-scan and go blind for 6 minutes. A time when my life lay before me as a series of endless pathways, so plentiful were my opportunities, that I was afraid to choose one for the fear of choosing wrong. The world was my lobster back then, and I thought that was how it would always be. 

Tragically, however; time is a cruel and unforgiving mistress and I am her subservient whore. Gone are the naive plans and idealistic ambitions of my youth, buried forever in the field of dead hopes and dreams. 

I can only assume that I have done nothing wrong and that this is all entirely the fault of society. I recently read Frankenstein and discovered that the true monster was humanity all along. (But also Frankenstein's literal monster who was killing the townspeople and stealing huskies and etc.).

As much as all of this makes me want to revert to a pre-verbal level and live out my days in the hospital from Girl, Interrupted I feel that I must persevere. But only because I know that is what Julie Andrews would tell me to do.

So I sit at my desk, day after day, and stare out the window, fantasizing about the day when technology has advanced such that I can build a robot who is indistinguishable from myself and has no capacity to understand slave labour laws. She will masquerade as me at my job by day, and be my sex slave by night, and this will finally afford me enough time for leisure activities like reading gardening magazines in the sunshine (or something??). 

But until that day I have to go to my job myself, like a chump.......