Getting older => getting invisible and less respected

 Getting older is a privilege, not everyone gets a privilege to get old, to be 80, 90 or older. Getting older while keeping decent health is even more of a privilege, even though average human life span is getting longer keeping health with age is still hard. Not everyone gets smarter with age, not everyone gets to be a better person, smarter, wiser, deserving more respect, sadly some people don't grow or learn, some just get to be worse as humans. But what about those who grew older or old, and do get wiser, smarter or just are decent people as they always were? What happens in society where older people are considered ugly, scary, non-attractive, gross, non-interesting, and just plain annoying? Where most people treat them like they should just disappear? Hide, don't talk much, don't flaunt themselves in any way, and God forbid show any trace of sexuality because, that's "gross"?

Even if you are objectively not old, but not young either, you are treated like crap, because, you are also "gross" and how dare you try to be visible and act like a person! It's like your whole personality is narrowed down to your age. You are middle aged or you are old. That's your whole personality and nothing else about you matters. Old people are treated like mindless children, and often looked at with disgust. Sadly, I've seen men around 20, 30 who call women in their 70s "old hag" or worse, who yell at them, insult them and are extremely unpleasant to them, I think because those ladies do not have anything to offer that those men want. Would they treat lovely young women like that, ever? No. Because they think they could still have some "use" of those women. It's actually sad. Now, I am not saying, all men act like that, I am saying that I've seen SOME. But most young people, men or women, will not give even a second look to old person, most of them will just try to escape them and maybe feel even fear because being old is something they fear. Being old reminds you that you are mortal, and that you don't really have much choice, you have to get old and your looks and health will change, or alternative which is even worse.

Being middle aged myself showed me how people change their behavior towards middle aged people and how suddenly you stop to matter as a person. I can only imagine how worse it gets when you get over 70! But even now, I am fully aware of how different people treat me compared with how it was 10-20 years ago. Suddenly, no one looks at me, if they need to serve me because it's their job (like in retail or restaurants) they treat me like they want to get me off their back as soon as possible, like I am a nuance or someone really non-important. If I am asking for service for me personally and I say exactly what I am interested in, I get answer based on my age, not my preference. For example, I was buying books, and I chose two  novels I thought might be interesting. The young lady who worked there said I get discount for third book so I told her what interests me and asked for suggestion. She gave me a bloody book about menopause! Am I crazy or was it horribly rude? I never asked for that, I can find information about menopause, if and when I need it, anywhere online, literally thousands of videos and articles.

Sometimes, in stores and public places, people who are younger treat us middle-aged like were are not worth of attention at all. Apparently, we can't give them anything and that's the only reason to be nice to someone? We are not that attractive anymore, we are not interesting as potential relationship material so we are apparently not people anymore. We don't exists.

I believe I will get used to this and even get use of being invisible. Like many people do. It's not really pleasant to become aware you are not attractive on any level to people anymore, and at the same time, realize, you once were you just didn't know it then. But for all the wrong reasons. Because you were young and pretty, you were potential resource, again, not human, just resource, just something they could use. This may go both ways for men too, but I have no idea how men feel so I have to speak for women only. I am pretty sure men have their own problems and their life with age does not get any easier, maybe just not in the quite the same way as our does.

It's not the worst thing that can happen to anyone, being ignored and knocked to the side like non-important, not useful human. It's not the worst thing to be considered non-attractive or "gross" and not someone anyone would ever want. It's ok. It's perfectly fine to get older and not to be the same person you were when you were in 20s or 30s. Society teaches us that the most important thing is to be young, sexy and beautiful forever (like in the movie The Substance), but honestly, like all beauty standards, it's all a big lie, a marketing! We don't need that, no one really does. I just don't like people talking over me, people ignoring me when I am trying to ask for something, people being extremely rude because I am not of "use" to them as sex object anymore, people who suggest me what should be my interests based on my age alone and nothing else, like that all that defines me. I am ok with being invisible, I am ok with being "old weird hag", just don't fucking try to ruin my day or my life because of that. I am still human.

The Awakening (part 3)

Part 3: Stem cells

Fast forward to the day when I could successfully roll around in a wheelchair, which wasn't even electric, but old-fashioned, with the wheels that I had to push with my hands. My legs were now functional, but not enough to walk on my own. They wouldn't let me out of my cell...ups sorry, I mean hospital room, except when they were driving me for tests, scans, endless needle poking and electrocutions. During those not-so-pleasant tests and treatments, I had the opportunity to take a look at my arms and legs, and even my torso, and it was clear that whatever they did, they managed to rejuvenate my body by at least twenty years. I wasn't optimistic about that because a dark-haired young man, Dr. Marianusic, told me that almost half of the stem cell treatments ended "very, very badly." I didn't want to ask for details. After all, what do I have to lose at my age? After an additional two hundred years of half-life in ice?

I became nervous from all the testing, riding in and on wheelchairs and being locked in rooms. During what seemed to me like an infinitely long time after waking up, I never saw a trace of the sky, not a single window. I dared to mention this wish to see the sky to my always "optimistic" doctor Marianusic. He was the oldest of those people, but still much younger than me, I mean, younger than me before the disaster and everything.

"We have no windows, nothing to see out there," he said. These people have no sense of humor, or even a single try to lighten up a hopeless situation.

"You mean, all that's left is this building and nothing else? Put me then back under the ice right now!”

"Uh, no, far from it, calm down," always so serious he took it all literally, "there are cities, but you know, it's dark. You can't see anything anyway."

"But when it dawns..."

"You don't understand, it won't dawn. Ever. The city is illuminated by artificial lights, but beyond that there is nothing. Just blackness. This building is not under a dome so there is no light outside and the temperatures are extremely low. Windows are unnecessary, and dangerous."

I had periods of regretting being awaken from the time spent in a frozen sleep, which I thought would last forever. The need for peace, sleepiness, light that refracts in rainbow colors forever. The feeling that I am where I am, that I have nothing to lose and that I will exist forever, even if only as a fragment of consciousness in a frozen body. This was one of those periods, perhaps the strongest. I asked him why they woke me up, took me out of the ice, why me, and why, when there was nothing left and nothing to see. I felt that there was nothing here left but buildings and a handful of people. Who wants to see that? Who wants to live there? They also rejuvenated me to last longer. Why me, I asked.

I was closest to the surface and had the best vitals. Here's an explanation! It was certainly easier to reach people who were lucky enough to be close to the surface of the ice, and I had, judging by their measurements, surprisingly strong vital functions, almost as if my brain was still working, albeit at a very weak level. They just had to dig me up! Who were "they", you ask? It seems that a group of people, before the disaster, felt they had the right to determine who would survive and accordingly, certain people were put safely into a state of hibernation, deep, deep underground. The survivors' selection system was tragicomic and expected. Those who had enough money (but what was the meaning of money at that moment?), those who had influence and power, and those closest to the participants in the whole project. So, survivors were chosen over personal connections. It is no wonder that their descendants are completely empty and without a trace of spirit. Hibernation lasted as long as fifty years, after which they managed to wake up "the majority", as the good doctor said. In the meantime, the dangerous situation on the surface, although still not safe, calmed down a bit and soon they started to rebuild and salvage what could be saved. It seems that I was lucky, at least that much, that I was not among the first to be pulled out of the ice. The first people they tried to extract from the ice simply disintegrated, some unfortunately, upon awakening, fully aware of what was happening to them. It wasn't pleasant to think about it during the long nights. My cold and bland doctor didn't know if such a fate could befall me, but the failed ones were followed by more and more complete revival successes, so that the majority of those who were awakened were still alive and well, decades after the awakening.

"After all," he said without thinking, "you were a perfect candidate for a trial of stem cell therapy because of your age you were . . ."

He stopped there, obviously realizing that it wasn't very smart to say "expendable", that is, I am so old that it wasn't too bad for me to fail and die in the process.

"Um, um, I wanted to say that there would be no effect with younger candidates. Stem cell treatment can rejuvenate you, but  can't bring you back to puberty. It can only go so long."

"What happens if things go wrong?" I asked, and the silence was a more terrifying answer than anything he could've said.

"What kind of society is this?" I asked after a very long and uncomfortable silence during which I could clearly read pure terror on his face.

"Not very great," he finally answered and I felt the first rush of sympathy for him for this honesty.

"Is it better not to go out?"