Birthday’s Suck

I hate birthdays.
It’s a terrible tradition.
It reminds me of all of the things I have not done, of all of the dreams that were not achieved, and how far I am from the person I hoped to be.
Birthdays are some ludicrous celebration of being one year closer to kicking the bucket.

I think of the person I was supposed to be, the magical image of the superhero I have in my head and the reality of the bad decisions, un achieved goals, and poor attitude that I still hold today.
Once a year I get to come face to face with the reality of who I am.
Is this where I wanted to be at 37? Was it at 25? Will it be at 50?
I think not.

This is not the point that I turn it around.
This is not the time I think of all the good things I have.
This time, being grateful, having perspective, and being happy about what I have done does not seem to be enough.
I’m am miserable on my birthday.
But, it’s my birthday, so I can be whatever the hell I want to be.

The misery, the angst, the anger, and the self-loathing get to be my gift to myself today.
They remind me that, despite my mistakes, I still get another chance.
They let me know, for every time I take a step back into the dark parts of my mind, that I listen to the self-doubt, that I buy into the idea that I’m not good enough.
I have made it another year.
The voices, the choices, and the monsters are still under the bed…

But the motherfuckers haven’t got me yet.

Published by Brian Fretwell

Author, TEDx Speaker, Consultant Trying not to be a horrible human

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