Another year older

Yesterday was my birthday. I didn’t expect anything out of it and that’s what I got. Besides the people who saw the notification on their Facebook, I had a few friends reach out and say happy birthday. Other than that it was just like every other day. My mom says we’ll have a cake for me next Wednesday. We’ll see, I guess. That’s only happened one birthday out of the last 5 years or so but she says it’ll happen every year. I’ve stopped thinking it will. 

It’s not getting older that bothers me, I don’t think. I don’t think I’ve spent a birthday outside of a depression since I was 22-23 years old. And I may have been then also but I think it was a mixed state. It’s been so long since I could just enjoy something without the dark clouds all around. 

I imagine I’ll have to have my medication adjusted. I usually do around this time of year. The last two years that was done in a hospital setting. I can’t let it happen that way this time. I haven’t been assigned to a new psychiatrist yet. Apparently I have to stay on them about it. My therapist isn’t much help but I’ve been seeing one for 7 years now and neither were much help. I still have the same thoughts, the same habits, the same hurt. 

I want to say something positive but I just don’t have anything right now. I’m counting down the days to a very important day and it has me so nervous and anxious that I can’t tell if I’m coming or going. My positive thoughts seem to have fled. I hate this. I hate this feeling, I hate these thoughts, I hate that this is considered a life. It’s not, it shouldn’t be. I’m just surviving through one depression after another, with small breaks in between. If true remission is possible, why can’t it happen to me? 


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