What’s in a birthday? Well, birthdays have different meanings for different people. For some, birthdays are a big deal. They go all out; partying until the sun comes up. There are those who pretend like their birthday isn’t a big deal, in the hopes that someone will in reality make them feel special; I mean after all—it is the day of their birth. For others, it’s just another day. Then there’s what I like to call, the ‘Birthday Loathers.’ These are the people that dread growing another year older. They sit and ponder what they’ve done with the past year—and how much of an impact they may or may not have made.
When I was younger, I used to enjoy my birthday---until 8:57pm.
That is when I was born. Even when I was a kid, it hit me---that yes, I am
getting older. At that age, I didn’t know what getting older really meant. I
knew it meant I would be closer to driving. It meant I could maybe stay up
later. It meant that, hey, I was going up another year in school. I remember,
on my 11th or 12th birthday, after all my family had gone
for the night---I went to my room and laid in bed looking up at the
ceiling. My mom came in to wish me a
final Happy Birthday, and could see that I was thinking deeply—in an almost upset
manner. She asked me what was
wrong. I began to tell her that I feared
getting older, that I wasn’t sure what my purpose was---that getting older
really scared me. Her response was
simple:
“Everyone has to get older.”
So we do. We go
through the milestones. 16, we get to
drive (hopefully). 18, you can buy lotto
tickets and cigarettes (and, if you really wanted to you can go to a strip
club). 21: The biggest milestone of them
all. 25, you can rent a car.
26.
Tomorrow, I will be 26.
Yesterday on my way home from work, I got that ‘Oh no, another year
older’ feeling. Then today, when I
really thought about it…maybe my 26th year is the true escape from
the shitty stuff I’ve had to deal with this year. Wait. Scratch that. The previous statement did not sound at all
eloquent.
What I am saying is, perhaps rather than the New Year, (which
is supposed to technically be a clean slate for you and anyone who believes in
that kind of thing), perhaps your birthday is the point where you really get to
start over. Another year older, another
year wiser, right?
On my 25th birthday, I woke up in my own home,
let my dog out in my backyard, and
opened gifts that had been left for me by the kitchen table. Of course, he had listened, and gotten me
what I asked for, per the usual. I know
that sounds really snotty, and please don’t take it that way.
So I went to work, and he went to work, and I came home….and
no one was there. It hit me, that yes,
his job did have different hours than mine, and that was something that I was going
to have to deal with. Birthdays and
holidays—were something that he might not be around for. So, that night my parents came and took me to
dinner. They gave me the sweetest card, which made me cry. Then they left. They left, and I stood at the front door
choking back the tears as they drove away.
I was alone….in a home that was far away from everyone that I knew. At the time, I shrugged it off, because we
had bought the home together, and it was ours.
So, that night, as I often did, I went to sleep in a giant King-Sized bed:
alone.
Alone. Whether I would like to admit it or not, in the
end---I was more alone than I thought at the time. Sometimes we don’t want to accept the truth,
even if it’s so blatant that it’s smacking you in the face. I’d like to think that I was just blind to it
all. Naïve even. The truth is, deep down, I knew it was
over.
So in my 25th year, I lost a relationship, I lost
a home, I lost a family, I lost a job, I lost a grandmother. While all of those losses may seem like enough
to send a person over the edge, I feel oddly calm about it all. You see, when something or someone walks out
of your life, another something or someone walks in to take its place.
Family and friends have really stepped up to sort of pick me
up off the floor. Believe me, for awhile
there, it was touch and go. As dramatic
as it sounds, go back and read some of my first blogs. In one of them, I talk about how all I want
to do is go back to bed. I get up every
morning, looking forward to the moment when I can crawl back into bed. Not because I was tired, but because I didn’t
want to face life. That’s some pretty
depressing shit, and yeah, I do have some depressing moments (still)---but I
feel about 15 times stronger than I did October 23, 2012. That’s
something to be truly proud of.
The thing is, there is no way I can thank all of the people
who have contributed to my sense of renewed life. There are so many individuals who’ve read my
blog—and have reached out to me to tell me that I am going to be okay. When someone that you don’t talk to every
single day does that, it means something.
There are others who told me their own stories. It was then, that I knew there was a chance
for me to be happy again—because those people had been through it before and
they picked themselves up off the ground, only to carry on and find their own happiness.
To all the people who stand by me every day, who support my statuses about
going to the gym every single day, who listen to me and read my blogs…and are
by my side….I owe you more than you’ll ever know.
So there it is folks.
Another blog that has lots of random tangents—and weird thoughts. It makes sense to me---and if you were me
then I guess it would make sense to you too.
So here’s to a goodbye. My 25th year was full of my
unwillingness to let go. My 26th
year, is all about letting go. Starting
with the deletion of a phone number. The
phone number of He Who Must Not be Named. The end of an era.
I know this is a short blog, and that it isn’t as
inspirational as my usual thoughts----but hey----
It’s my birthday (well, almost), and I write what I want to.
Here's to you! It's your day, your year, live it to the fullest! Love you!!!!
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