It’s my 34th birthday today. Not at all how I thought I would spending my birthday. It hurts. It really does. But that doesn’t mean I am sobbing all the time. Actually, with the amount I cried last week I would be suprised if I had any tears left.
I am sad. I am having good days and bad days and I am just trying to take things one minute at a time. I can’t answer the question “How are you feeling?”. I don’t know how to answer that.
People are surprised I am not sobbing in bed all day. That’s what they think depression looks like. Like someone holding their head in despair – which as illustrated by this article and campaign – is just not true.
The week I broke down I had been to volunteer meetings, an industry dinner, a wine night and the Rihanna concert. I was exhausted from holding it all together. From playing a part but from the outside looking in (or from my Facebook page), I am sure is seemed as though I was living a semi-charmed life.
Even now, I was out last night for a drink and a catch up with some old friends. And I am sure that’s what the people in the pub saw – a table of four friends. I saw an idiot talking nonsense because she was afraid of the silence. Afraid of letting the conversation get “too real”. (That idiot being me).
I don’t know how to talk about and so I don’t.
But just because I don’t talk about it, doesn’t mean it isn’t happening. I spent most of today in bed. Wasting the day away because I just can’t believe this is my life.
What a mess. What a f**king mess.