So I had a meltdown this afternoon when I realized that what I had tried to avoid all month was quickly approaching, my birthday. Now this isn’t a diatribe about why I don’t want to grow old or how another birthday is another year closer to death, no, I am happy to be another year older. To be honest after the deep dark depression I have suffered through over the past year I am thrilled to have made it to see my 23rd birthday. No I am just having a moment of anxiety over my birthday, I feel guilty for putting extra stress on my boyfriend before he gets deployed to do something for my Bday. I am also anxious that I will get my hopes up for something spectacular to happen only to have it dashed when the day passes with little fan fare.
To be honest I have never really had the best connotation with my birthday. Its not like I had a particularly traumatic childhood, on the opposite I grew up in a loving home where my birthday was often greeted with fan fare and a well planned party. I desperately tried to pick myself out of this funk I was feeling about the impending February 27th. I sat in the bath tub and tried to think of some positive birthday memories and all I could remember was when I was in grade six. The school board released their decision on boundaries on my birthday and I found out I was going to have to change schools, meaning that after having attended the same school since I was 4 I was going to have to figure out how to survive somewhere else. I remember crying as I walked home from the bus stop that day. Later that night, when I was at the laser tag where my birthday party was being held, I heard a friend’s mom tell my mom that the parents in our district just didn’t petition or work hard enough. I remember feeling so incredibly bitter towards that woman, and kind of bitter towards my parents for having full time jobs and in fact not petitioning at all. I ended up changing schools, and things worked out for the best ultimately but it was a devastating birthday for a fragile 12 year old none the less.
Then there was my 22nd birthday, my most recent birthday which served to be absolutely horrible. I cried pretty much the whole day, I had the flu, I was sick and sad. I had recently tumbled into my dark depression of which I was yet to emerge, and my thoughts had grown increasingly dark. I thought of self injury and even suicide. I remember when I was little how shitty it would be to die on your birthday but also how it would be a suitable ending. How departing this life on the same day you came into it would be a neat and tidy ending (I was a bit of a morbid child). Earlier the week of my birthday my roommates had thought about taking me to the hospital because they didn’t want me to hurt myself, I said I was fine, then went in my room and quietly cried myself into a nap. My boyfriend had just returned from an exercise, was exhausted and preparing to move, so he didn’t plan much. Needless to say it was a specularly depressing day that passed with more tears then smiles and getting yelled at by one of my potential future in-laws
So here I am 2 sleeps away from my 23rd birthday. I think a lot of my anxiety stems not only from my past experiences and how painful they were, but also from an internal sense of dread. A sense that my life is not where I expected it to be at when I turned 23. I am spending more time in doctors offices and hospitals then I am at trendy bars or even a place of work. I am past the point of frustration with my illness and at a point in my life where I am just waiting for the next obstacle to come. I know this point might come off as a little whiny, but to be honest I am in a whiny kind of self reflecting mood.
Maybe Wednesday won’t be so bad, or maybe a huge blizzard will hit and they will call off my birthday as a snow day. Here’s hoping.
Yours in Pain,
Ginny
No comments:
Post a Comment