If there’s one thing about myself that is for certain, it’s that I don’t give myself a break unless I am forced to. I told myself I’d take a week off everything for my birthday week, but you know me, I was writing and aiming to be here as usual, but then a little thing called depression showed her evil self and forced me to stop.
For a little while I’ve been feeling her presence getting stronger, and a potential relapse imminent, and on my birthday, she came to swallow me whole.
When I was young, I’d look forward to my birthday, it was my favourite time of the year. In the summer holidays, all my friends were off school and around me, the weather was always lovely for all the visits to Flamingo Land when I was young, and shopping trips to York or Newcastle when I was older.
I’d always have my family and friends around me, and Mam would piece together a table of party food for us all to feast on. Egg mayo buns, cheesy potatoes, cocktail sticks skewered through cheese and pineapple chunks, and a birthday cake fit for a child’s birthday no matter what my age was.
My birthdays have always been filled with music too, from NOW CDs I listened to religiously over my birthdays, or albums I’d received as a gift; there’s so much music that has that birthday feeling attached to it. Avril Lavigne’s The Best Damn Thing and Ke$ha’s Animal albums are my birthday staples (Although I recently discovered my copy of The Best Damn Thing is a censored version!) In the past I’ve listened to this music to get me into the mood for my birthday, but not even censored Avril could help me with this birthday – I dreaded it, and I fear I always will.
Once happy memories of August 4th seem so far away right now, and it’s for no other reason than the fact it’s just another date with depression taped to it. I know the tape will peal off one day and the depression won’t be stuck to it anymore, there will always be a part of it still stuck to it with its nasty, sticky residue.
I don’t remember much of my birthday in 2020, but I do remember being on the phone, organising my daughter’s funeral, worrying about songs, worrying if everything was going to be perfect. I sat upstairs at my dressing table, taking notes of the phone call, with that hollow feeling in my chest. I put the phone down and walked downstairs to sit with my Mam and brother who were visiting me. I remember sitting on the floor in my living room, trying to remain socially distant from my family and Harry Styles’ Fine Line album was playing. We ate cake, and we laughed, and it was as okay as the day could be.
But the memories of the last, haunted this year’s birthday and I spent most of my time sobbing in between visitors.
Sobbing because pretending to be happy is hard work.
Faking laughs and smiles, while trying to keep up with conversations while I feel as though I’m drowning is exhausting. But then again, most days feel like I’m drowning these days.
I could have cancelled, but it’s not very polite to tell people you’re not celebrating your birthday because you’re too sad. However, after such an exhausting day, I did just that and cancelled all other plans I had for my birthday week. I decided I just needed to listen to my body for a while and allow myself to feel sad, and all other emotions that come with depression.
I can’t keep faking happiness, because every time I do, I feel myself go out of frequency just a little bit. Like when the car radio sounds a little fuzzy from driving too far away for it to connect anymore. Equally, I can’t keep letting depression take over me and not allow me to feel happiness anymore; and so, you see why I’m living in such a strange state of limbo somewhere between just okay and kind-of alright.
In my static days I was able to just be. I cried, I didn’t wear make up, I didn’t even wash my hair for days; I truly allowed my depression to take over, because I knew if I did, she would then leave me alone for a little while after. It’s dangerous letting her in because I’m never sure if she’s going to leave again, but I’m relieved to say she has settled down again now.
I dare say it was just a birthday relapse – thank you to my mind for such a lovely gift!
Since then, I’ve been feeling better, which makes me question whether let her in, or did I just listen my body and give it the rest it needed? Either way, I feel like I’m owed another birthday, one that’s just for me. Not one where people want to visit me, or give me cards or presents, just a day to me – from me.
Maybe I’ll buy myself a present, and maybe I’ll make a playlist of birthday music from the past (with the uncensored Avril Lavigne songs thank-you-very-much) and I might even make myself a cake.
At least when August 2022 comes around, I might not recall the birthday depression stole, maybe I’ll remember the little birthday I gave myself and the happiness I created within it.
Where’s the rules that say we must celebrate our birthdays on the day anyway?
It’s my birthday – I’ll celebrate it when I want!
Gwen Richards 