Today marks my 35th year on the earth.. thirty five fucking years! I’ve have never been so fussed on my birthday for as long as I can remember. Not when I was a child/teenager though, I don’t ever remember not enjoying them as they were also a countdown to Christmas as it falls directly a week before.
I remember my Mum recalling how it was the best Christmas when my twin brother and I were born. She had to stay in hospital for almost a week as she had a c-section and was kept in. She was let out on Christmas Eve which meant she could forego the trials and tribulations of Christmas Day including buying presents or doing a dinner.. she called it the best Christmas (despite the chicken dinner my Dad made being vile ha!).
When I lived alone I think that’s when the birthday blues kick started and became an annual tradition. As my birthday falls two weeks before the end of the year, I’d prematurely reflect on the past year. I would think of the things I had not achieved or experienced during either that year or at that stage in my life and it would depress the fuck out of me.
This year however, I feel the opposite! No birthday blues or depressive episodes. It’s the most content I’ve felt in years and I attribute that to a number of things: I’m in a relationship for the first time in my life that is going very well, I’ve been driving for a full year, I’m happy with my job and been on two holidays. The year hasn’t felt like it’s stagnated as the years previous have and I think it’s been the above that is the reason for that. Maybe birthdays don’t have to be so bad after all.