fear of aging

I am not afraid of getting old. I look forward to wrinkly skin, aching joints, thinning hair, using a cane or walker; I look forward to it all, because getting old means I survived. I made it. I didn't quit (on my hopes, my dreams, my aspirations and desires; I didn't quit on myself.) I proved my toxic upbringing and my demons wrong. I made it—and I was here to stay (and I was mentally OK with it.)

I am not afraid of getting old. But I do fear becoming a resentful, jaded, and depressed (old) woman. I do not want to be unhappy forever. (and) I fear losing my spark. I fear losing the best parts of my self (those that are here and those that are on their way). I fear it. I hate it.

And if I grow to be a bitter woman, then I do not want to keep living. (or do I? I won't know until I get there, right? So, should I give myself a chance?)