Birthday Blues (21)

Recommended for people 21+

Content and Trigger Warning:

Language/Profanity, Self-harm, suicide, or suicidal thoughts; Drug or alcohol use; Drug or alcohol abuse; addiction; mental health triggers like social isolation, anti-social behavior, symptoms of depression; social anxiety, panic attacks, hypersexuality; Emotional or mental abuse, gaslighting, manipulation; narcissistic abuse; Stalking or harassment; eating disorders; dysphoria; graphic depictions of consensual sex; cheating partners; Animal pet death

A picture of me at 21 with a glass of wine and a birthday balloon.

In September of 2017, I turned 21. Unfortunately, 2017 was notably one of the worst years of my life.

This was mainly because it was the first time in my life where I had felt truly alone, and as a result, I was incredibly suicidal! Yay! Oh, there was also my family's beloved golden doodle passing away to cancer (R. I. P. Sam) while I was away at college. I face-timed my family since they were there for him in his last moments. I was not. As a result, my family would gaslight me into believing I was "lucky" for not having to be there. Even though I was virtually there and saw my beloved furry boy go lifeless on the vet's table, I felt like he was upset I was not there. He didn't know I was on face-time.

Granted, my parents did not tell me until 2 days before how bad Sam's condition was. Then, before I could figure out a way to get home to see him one last time, my mom decided to put Sam down without me. So I never got to say goodbye, and I mourned his death by myself in my college apartment, alone. To this day, I don't think I have ever really forgiven them for this, mainly because they refuse to apologize for how they handled his death. And also, because they refuse to listen to my own pain about how I was stuck on campus without really anyone to console me. (I did not have the greatest or closest friendships at this time.)

My roommates were friendly the week following his death. Ultimately did not really do anything to help cheer me up; they had already shown me that they held no space for my mental illness, much less my grief. I had become so antisocial from surrounding myself with toxic friends and became disappointed when those friends could not care less about me or my declining mental state.

I had also been in a toxic relationship with a guy who used me for sex and could not make any deeper commitment due to his "sex addiction." This guy who would go on to 'lightly' harass and stalk me on social media for about FIVE YEARS after I had decided to stop seeing him officially.) After I stopped seeing him, I went home for the summer, which was one of the worst summers of my life! While I was back home, he had gotten himself a girlfriend; I saw on social that he went public with their relationship! Almost immediately after, we stopped seeing one another! I was not surprised or shocked.

I was shocked, however, when I returned to campus in the fall, and he tried to hook up with me again. I went out one night with my roommate and her friends, and he called me to hook up. He was drunk, and so was I; I was lonely, sad, and desperate. I let him come over, but we were really too drunk to do anything more than kissing and some light touching. I eventually realized later that I didn't enjoy sex with him so much as I enjoyed the attention, the attention of being pursued, wanted and desired. We ended up falling asleep, and when I woke up in the morning, he was gone, and I was alone. He sent me a text saying that his little sister, a new freshman on campus, had "car troubles." Okay, whatever.

What made matters worse than waking up alone after sharing your bed with someone is that all of his socials said he was still in a relationship. I was disgusted. I was disgusted at becoming the 'other woman; I was disgusted that he was still using me for sex and intimacy, especially since he had a girlfriend to do that with. He would continually ask- no beg- to hook up with me throughout the next two years of my college career.

He went out with his friends drinking at multiple bars and after getting absolutely plastered, he would Blow. Up. My. Phone. Almost every weekend for a long while, I would wake up to 10 messages, 5 Snapchats, and 7 missed calls. He even admitted once that he tried to get into my building and on my floor... during the night... when I was asleep... It's safe to say that after that experience, I became celibate... I did not want another man to look at me, touch me, or use me like that again. I was already incredibly insecure (I've always been! Yay, trauma, and EDs!) and depressed (since I was 16!). I solved that problem by eating my feelings, so no straight man came within a yardstick of me especially in Missouri.

>>>You're probably wondering how all this has anything to do with my 21st birthday… patience sweet child, I'm getting there.

I tried to acquire more female friends since most of my female friendships became a disaster. I even tried to get closer to the friendlier people at my part-time job. I made some new friends, but the problem with my birthday being in September was that it was too early in the school year if you are starting over in the friend department. At the beginning of the year I moved into a lovely, lofted apartment located centrally of both downtown and campus.

Since the view was incredible and the place was rather large, I really wanted to throw a party there. So I Facebook-invited many people (back when my age group still actively checked their Facebook). Who knows, maybe that was my first mistake? The day of my actual birthday was a Tuesday. I understand that the hustle and bustle of college life with part-time work and studying was hard to get away from. But no one really wanted to spend my actual birthday with me; I felt like I had to beg them to. In fact, since I turned 17, no one had wanted to actually celebrate my birthday with me (unless there was something in it for them.) Obviously, my parents don't count; I expect them to; in fact, I need them too; they are the fucking reason I have to exist in the first place.

I had asked a few gal pals if they wanted to come over for a meal or some wine on the day of. Only one "Gal Pal" showed up with a bottle of wine, which was nice. But otherwise, she stayed for a short time and left me alone to drink by myself, and if there's one thing I don't do, it's drinking alone. I was still partying and going out to the bars with people, but for what? None of these people would care if I didn't show up, and I wasn't really enjoying myself either.

It reminded me of when I was 16; I threw a sweet sixteen party that my parents paid for. It was lovely of them; they even stayed on the outskirts just to oversee things. I had yummy finger food, a popular DJ (he went to my high school so he would know the vibe and some people), and even security detail (who did a shit job). It was all on a private venue rented out for the night on a golf course range in Palatine, IL. It was a cute place, and everything was great. Everyone and I mean everyone, told me how much fun they had for weeks and months after the party.

The only person who seemed not to have fun...? Me. Mainly because I looked around the room of about 50-some people and realized none of them were really my close friends, and if they were close ones, they were really toxic friends. I didn't stay friends with many of them shortly after that. I made the same mistake again when I invited so many people to my 21st birthday party. Only one person had shown up, my friend Kelly. We had just become friends, and this girl walked all the way to my apartment from hers, which was like 20 mins at night through downtown. I will never forget that.

The rest of the people I had invited either never responded or just canceled on me hours before, or even right then and there. One clique-y friend group, in particular, decided they were just going to go out to the bars instead of coming over... "you can come with us if you want!" they wrote back to me. Safe to say, that was the absolute last time I made an effort to hang out or talk to that group again.

I had canceled the event on Facebook an hour before because I decided to over-do it on edible brownies the night before (I was very depressed and wanted to self-medicate a lot and just discovered the wonder that was marijuana edibles.) So I spent the next few days recovering from the edible (it was that strong) and feeling sorry for myself that I didn't have anyone who actually wanted to spend my birthday with me.

And despite how ridiculously high I had gotten, I still would have celebrated if people actually bothered to show up. (I did make it up to Kelly, bless her heart.) My failed 21st birthday party ended up turning out the same as my "successful" 16th birthday party because they showed me the people who actually cared and the ones who didn't.

Maybe I put too much emphasis on birthdays; perhaps I make them a bigger deal than they are, but they are a big deal to me. Because it's like, hey, you made it, another rotation around the sun and you made it another year, and you're still somewhat standing! I think the people in your life should want to celebrate that, sue me!

I definitely love celebrating my friends; I even make a point of actually remembering. Some people don't even have that courtesy. "I'm sorry, I just forget" okay, well, save it on your phone then; it's not that hard. But I guess for some people, maybe caring about somebody else for one day or one moment is just too much for them to handle.

But maybe I'm just a bitter bitch.

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Read part 2: Birthday Blues at 22, 23, and 24

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