19th March 2016
It’s a personal philosophy of mine to surround
yourself with people who are more excited about your birthday than you are.
From this I concluded that I should be really, really excited about my birthday
because I’m surrounded by myself all of the time. As a result, I was a little
bit of a shit on my birthday this year, and I will happily admit that. I’m also
going to admit to you all that this blog post is a bit self-indulgent.
The day began with a rendition of “Happy
Birthday” from my Mum and Dad through the phone. I then exchanged birthday
goods with my housemate whom I share my birthday with. I went to work and
boastfully announced: “IT’S MY BIRTHDAY” to my co-workers, and pretty much
every customer that came through. I even maturely corrected a man who said…
“Ah, to be seventeen.”
With this…
“Actually, I’m twenty. But that’s okay.”
I swear I’m grown-up. I swear.
Proceeding the morning of fishing for happy
birthdays, I got home and I relished in all of the Facebook messages and texts
and phone calls. I was overly excited when the guy that I’m seeing visited me
with a dinosaur card and passes to the Lone Pine Koala Sanctuary (I may have
squealed about the koalas), and then even more so when helium balloons were
delivered from my family. And still even more when one of my best friends came
over with a very, very generous present (I am now the proud owner of a cloud
nightlight) and the promise of going to see a play.
I allowed myself to be completely and
ironically childish for eighteen hours of waking time, towards the end of which
I thought to myself “perhaps I should have played it a little more low-key.
Maybe I shouldn’t have been so excited about everything”. But then I decided I
wasn’t going to berate my behaviour, and you know why? It’s because I am so
proud to have made it to twenty. I am so proud that I am alive after more than
a decade of mental health issues and existential crises. I understand that a
lot of twenty year olds, even five year olds, have endured a great deal more
than I have and probably ever will. However, my sadness has been just as
influential as anybody else’s because “the ‘size’ of human suffering is
absolutely relative.” (To quote Dr Viktor E. Frankl. You guys should definitely
look him up.)
As a
result of my awkwardly painful gestation period, I have learnt how to accept
everything that I am. I have learnt how to be okay with the scars, the
embarrassments, the dagginess, my above average height and the slight (severe)
chocoholism. Twenty marks the beginning of me learning to, not just accept, but
celebrate everything that I am. I have now hatched from my meggshell and I will
prove to myself that it is okay for chickens to fly (no matter how socially
unconventional).