I really do cry before my birthday. The day before my birthday seems to be a stressful, depressing, anxious time for me.1 I cried a lot Tuesday. My depression and anxiety issues didn’t mix well with my racing heart, a milkshake,2 and my inability to find my Effexor bottle most of the day.3 I found it eventually and stopped crying like a toddler.
It’s a tradition that I need to break. Maybe I’ll figure out how to do so one of these days.4
There’s now less than a week1 until I turn 32. I’m not nervous about my birthday. Of course I’m having my typical I’m-getting-older-and-I-still-haven’t-done-everything-I-expected-to-do-up-to-this-point anxiety attacks. But I know now that those panicky reactions around birthdays are completely normal.
Although this year will mark the sixteenth anniversary of my forgotten birthday. If you haven’t heard the story, on my sixteenth birthday, everyone forgot it was my birthday. I had had my birthday party the Saturday before, so the school friends were excused2 for forgetting. And I’ve mostly forgiven my extended family for forgetting, since Will3 was born the day after.4 But my parents will never live down forgetting their only child’s sixteenth birthday.5
Next week will also be the fifteenth anniversary of this domain—cue the people mocking a 30+ year old person having a domain called fuzzypinkslippers.com.6 Assholes have to be assholes, since they don’t know how to function otherwise.