It’s my brithday today as I’m writing this. My real birthday, I mean. I think of September 3rd as my rebirthday, which is more important to me than my actual birthday. I have never cared about my real birthday. In fact, I used to hate my real birthday because I thought I should not be alive. In addition, I would think of all the milestones I had yet to meet and feel really depressed.
For many years, I refused to tell pople when my birthday was. When I first joined Facebook, I had to give a birthday. I didn’t want to because they refused to make it private. So I chose a day in January–just a random one. Then, every year I was surprised when I received birthday wishes on my FB wall on a random day in January. Now, FB doesn’t make you announce your birthday, thankfully.
I hated, hated, hated my birthday. I refused to tell anyone when it was, even if they asked me directly. It made some people mad that I wouldn’t tell them, which didn’t make sense to me, either. Why did they care when my birthday was? I mean, I do get that they want to celebrate it with me, but still. If I did not want to celebrate it, then why should they? That’s the part I did not understand.
Then, there was a phase when I didn’t care about it, but I saw no reason as an adult to celebrate it. Why announce it like a kid? I didn’t hate it as much as I did, but I certainly did not see any reason for it. If I were to be honest, I slightly looked down on people who were really excited about their birthdays. As an adult, I mean. Birthdays, like Christmas, were for kids. It was silly to care about them, but each their own.
Now, I don’t care about my birthday at all, but I also don’t look down on people who do. And I appreciate people who wish me a ahappy birthday because they love me and want to acknoledge my existenvce. That’s a nice sentiment and one that warms my heart.
I have to say, though, that I consider September 3rd my new birthday. Or my rebirthday as it were. That was the day I died twice and came back to life twice. That wsa when I realized that life was short. Or rather, a week later when I woke up. I was drugged to the gills and hooked up to an oxygen tube, but I was in my right mind. Sort of. My brother told me what happened, and I was amazed. Just to recap, I caught walking pneumonia, non-COVID-related, and managed to call 911 when I couldn’t breathe. They told me to go to the front door and open it for the cops. I did, and then I passed out in my front hallway. The cops came and found me not breathing. They bagged me with oxygen as they waithed for the EMTs to arrive. When the latter did, I had a cardiac arrest.
The EMTs gave me CPR and defibbed me. They put me in the ambulance and raced me to Regions. On the way, I had another cardiac arrest. They gave me more CPR and jabbed me with an EpiPen. Then, I had an ischemic stroke. When I arrived at the hospital, I was unconscious.
I stayed in a coma for a week. My medical team talked to my brother about pulling the plug. Just as he was contemplating that decision, I woke up. They did a battery of tests on me for the next several days. I passed all of them, and most of them with flying colors.
This was the beginning of a brand new attitude for me. Most of my depression and a majority of my anxiety vanished. I went from hating my body in my twenties and thirties to being studiously neutral about it after years of Taiji, to now absolutely adoring it.
My body got me through hell and back–twice. It’s fucking amazing. You cannot tell me shit about my body because I will laugh in your face. It’s really sad to me how American women are battered into submission by society to believe that they are only worth the number on a scale.
I went to Cubs to buy myself some Katz GF/DF Hostess Cupcakes and Talenti GF/DF double chocolate gelato. That’s my little treat to myself, and it was good. I have taken to treating myself in a small way for my birthday, and that feels just about perfect. I have no need to go big or to be showy about it. Krupa from RKG streamed more of his Dark Souls III plat run, and I didn’t mention my birthday. I never do, really, but the stream was a little treat to myself.
It’s really nice, honestly, that I can be chill about my birthday. I don’t need it to be a big thing, but I also don’t need it to be an angsty thing, either. It’s just another day. I can have a pleasant smile because of it, but I don’t need anything more than whan I got. I talked to K for a few hours, which always bolsters my spirit. I got a card from my Taiji teacher at my private lesson yesterday, and of course Ian and I have chatted throughout the day.
It’s just been…really nice. Lowkey and chocolate-y, which is exactly how I like it. It’s really great that I no longer hate my birthday or think of it as a failure. Who knows? Maybe next year I will be crazy about my birthday and demand that everyone treat me like the ruler than I am. I doubt it, though. I much more prefer just taking a quiet moment to be glad that I have lived to see another day. That’s what I care most about–just living. Life is great. Life is where it’s at. Here’s to an even better year for me.