The problem with my birthday…

My birthday is on the 9th November. For those of you who never know the date like me, that was yesterday.

To celebrate, me, my mum, her boyfriend and my biological mum packed up our bags and got on a first class train to London. We ate a fancy dinner, saw a show, drank fancy wine and went on a river cruise. We set up everything to be the perfect experience, and in many ways it was. We saw all the sites and we enjoyed each other’s company and yes, we had a great time, I had a great time.

(Disclaimer : it gets a bit darker from here guys, if you suffer with suicidal ideation or depression it might be tricky for you. Please turn around and find a different post, may I suggest one of mine that isn’t triggering? I’m also going to get pretty honest but don’t worry, I have good professionals working with me and I got this 💪🏻)

But there was a little problem. Yesterday my sole focus wasn’t only my birthday, it was also the depressive episode I’m currently in the middle of and the relapses that have come along with it.

I mean, my birthdays bring along the normal existential crisis a lot of people have, like “fuck, when did I get so old?” “What have I done with my life” “what is the meaning of my fastly passing existence.”

In a depressive episode, these normally valid and normal thoughts turn into something darker. Instead of thinking “what have I done with my life” and then Laughing it off over some alcoholic beverage, it turned into “what have I done with my life, nothing, I’m worthless and so is my life, what’s the point.”

I spent moments through the day terrified that someone was onto me, someone would notice the sign of relapse and it would lead to horrible conversations. I spent some of the day hoping that someone was onto me and would come and save me, not my family, you see I have this over the top and ideal fantasy that one day someone, a stranger will come to me and tell me they know what’s going on, and then they’ll save me and fix the parts of me that broke. You see, on depressive days it’s difficult to accept the fact that I am the one who has to fix the broken parts in me.

I sometimes see my life as a smashed mirror, I look at the pieces and try and put them together or I give up and leave the pieces on the ground, or I wait for someone else to put them together, or I get in a strop because I want a fucking new mirror. Mirrors reflect and in some ways I think that’s what a birthday is, we reflect and celebrate the year before and then look to and plan the next year (after partying a lot). But what if I’m in a state that means looking back is to painful and looking forward is full of anxiety? Then, it becomes all about the now, and we’ll now is my birthday, and now is meant to be a celebration.

Birthdays are a celebration of being alive. I am proud that I am still alive, it was touch and go for a while. I didn’t think I would see this birthday, or the birthday that went before it. That I can celebrate, even on my darkest day.

But, I can also question, what if I wasn’t here to see this birthday? Would that be so bad? Do I really want to be here for another year? Do I really want to put the effort in again to fight through this? Would it be so bad if 26 was the final year?

Well, I guess at the core, birthdays are about hope for the next year and so for now, I have to stick to that until things get better, because despite all the shit, things do eventually get better.

Maybe it’s worth the 6 months of depression for the month of stability.

Maybe this will be the last 6th months of depression I get.

Maybe the depressive episodes will get shorter and shorter.

Maybe.

For now, even if I can’t celebrate my birthday, I can celebrate the maybe.