It was my birthday last week..
I did not want to celebrate.
I did not want to do anything but have a non-day.
A doona-day.
A day of not talking to anyone or even getting out of bed.
I think I am depressed.
If you can get intense depression that seems to last a single day every so often when life just sucks beyond the telling of it.
But in other ways, I started falling when Greg died and I've not stopped since.
There are just some days when it hits hard, and my birthday was one of those days.
I used to look forward to my birthday.
When I was little I would get so mad because Dad's birthday was 2 days before mine and that middle day just dragged on and on while the anticipation built and built.
...and then Greg came along and he was my birthday present. I used to pinch myself that I had the best present of all "forever". I used to think how lucky I was to have found him so I'd never be sad or lonely ever again.
Boy was I counting some unhatched chickens there huh?
But now, I just see an endless stream of birthdays stretching out in front of me. Another 21 years ... and then another ...and probably half that again (if you use a prediction based on the average ages of the women in my family when they died*).
...and that's too much for anyone.
I know I have to stop looking at the distance and just concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. staying upright.
shuffling along.
But it's hard not to count those lonely birthdays ahead of me.
*Yes ... I know nothing is certain and none of us know how long we will live - but I can make an educated guess.
