Birthdays

My birthdays feel as if people have died on my birthday. But nobody has died.

I just carry the pain as if someone had.

I don’t have any friends or family members who celebrate me. I can’t remember the last time I felt like I was thought of on my birthday. Like someone was grateful that I existed.

So the day feels like I’m carrying the weight of all the people who have left my life.

And realise it’s not about the birthday itself.

But what the day shows me. It shows me how lonely I have been all this time.

Because on an ordinary day, I can distract myself. I can keep busy. I can convince myself that I’m okay.

But then my birthday comes around. And suddenly, there’s this day that is supposed to be about you. A day where you’re supposed to feel remembered, celebrated, loved.

And I don’t have that.

But instead of me being depressed the entire day, I try to do nice things for myself. I’ll book myself a massage. I’ll go for a nice meal. I’ll buy myself something.

But whilst I am doing those things, I still carry the sadness and the pain of nobody being there.

And I think I’ve had to learn that I don’t always need to get rid of that pain. Sometimes I just need to recognise it.

Because underneath the birthday is a much bigger grief.

It’s the grief of all the people who aren’t here. The people who left. The people who never showed up. The people I wish had wanted to celebrate me.

So that’s why I say my birthday feels like people have died on that day.