My birthday

My birthday

Remember the blog post from yesterday? Well, more of the same today. I’m exhausted and deeply depressed.

My birthday is coming up soon. Sooner than I would like. 11 days from today I will be 30. Turning 30 isn’t really depressing. I don’t care one way or the other how old I am. I know I’m a failure; and guess what: I’ll be one when I’m 50 too. So, what difference does it make as to whether I’m a 30 year old failure or a 50 year old one?

Having my birthday is depressing for another reason. When I was younger, it was the day that most of my “plans” pivoted around. I always thought it would be cool to die on my birthday. To have both the same start and stop dates. The chances of that happening are pretty slim … though my grandmother did die the day before her birthday, so maybe there is hope for me yet.

I guess having my birthday reminds me of how cowardly and weak I was when I was younger. Of the one thing that I still want to do so badly, but can’t.

What’s interesting is that so many people have told me over the years that I don’t want to die, I just want the pain to stop. I’ve concluded this is untrue. I don’t care whether or not the depression stops. I want life to stop. To say that things are going to get better is just patronizing anyways. They aren’t. I lost hope in that years ago.

If you’re worried, I’m safe. But that doesn’t make the feelings any less overwhelming. It doesn’t make them any easier to deal with or to handle.

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