I have a bit of a story that today has reminded me of and I wanted to share it publicly. Today was my 20th birthday. It wasn’t exactly much of a big deal, but ever since my 18th birthday, I’ve had nothing but a feeling of despair and sorrow, like my depression is trying to fight its way back into my life after I’ve spent so long trying to keep it at bay.
It must have started May 16th, 2015, or even a couple weeks before then when I took a trip to Portland with my old singing group, when my Choir Director received word that her sister didn’t have much longer to live. While she was told her sister had six weeks left, she passed away only a week after that call came in. It was devastating. It was the first time I had to deal with loss and comprehend it, and it wasn’t even someone related to me But seeing how it affected our Choir Director, someone I’d cared about deeply and still do even though I haven’t talked to her in forever, is what got to me.
The eight of us in her singing group volunteered to sing with her church Choir at her sister’s memorial on May 16th, 2015, my 18th birthday, but I never wanted to tell people that. I wanted to cry so badly, but I was in front of a rather large gathering—I couldn’t do it, but I almost lost it when I saw her children. I wanted to just break down and cry, but I couldn’t. A friend of mine from the group gave me a ride home after we sang, and as soon as I got home, I went into my room and cried for the rest of the day, right until I fell asleep.
I guess my birthday just brings up that memory, and it makes me dread the day. All I did today was go to work, come home, and spend some time with my family. As I get older, I feel no need to invite friends over or make it a big deal. If it was my choice, no one but my family and my co-author would know when my birthday was, but the word always gets out one way or another. I apologize for the rant. I suppose I just needed to let this all out.