Holy fuck, I am 25 tomorrow. Or possibly today. (Nobody agrees on what date my birthday is. I celebrate it on the 4th, but it could be the 3rd. My mum and dad don’t even agree. And no, I wasn’t born at midnight. I explain this almost every year. It amuses me).
25 is my scary age. It’s the age I scoffed at when I was sixteen. It’s when I called people old and thought they stopped having sex and settled into their beehives with their tiny families and their sad evenings. I remember when I first moved to London when I was seventeen. I was the baby amongst my friends, and my oldest friend was in his late thirties, but most of them were about twenty three. And they felt so worldly wise and mature to me. Now most of the people I know are in their early thirties. Robert- who I went out with at fourteen, and whose relationship with me partly ended because of our age gap- is the closest-to-my-age boyfriend that I have had in my adult life. Which is surreal.
And here I am, pretty much where I was four years ago. I started writing this blog when I was only twenty one. Not a lot has changed, except for me. Reading back, I can see some petulance, some arrogance. A dogmatic way of thinking, a certain dramatic streak. Now I see flatulence. And arrogance. I’m quite different in some ways. I’m more stable, more laid back, infinitely more independent. No new cuts for a long long time! Fatter than I was last year, although as part of my whole trying to get better thing, I try not to weigh myself, though I am aware I have put on almost two stone (almost all of that was in the three months after the contraceptive implant!), and it’s noticeable. And I swear, I’m bloody shorter.
I’m a woman now. I feel like one, even if I don’t always dress like one. I feel like an adult. Which is helped by the fact I had custody of a child for a weekend recently, which coaxes out my schoolmarm side. I have breasts and everything. In that time I have grown a cup size, lost another, then grown it back. (For those who closely follow my cup size, I am a double D. I don’t think I’ve ever had less than a B cup. I came out of my mum in a bra and mismatched pants from Primark).
Ageing is odd. Insightful comment there, yep. You never stop ageing but when do you stop changing?
Filed under: Bipolar Disorder |
The Secret Life of a Manic Depressive 
I remember spending my entire childhood thinking I wouldn’t make it adulthood. Literally, I saw nothing but a vacuous darkness, nothing more. Turning 30 ended up being the happiest birthday of my life. I was in Colorado (for me that was a biggie) and I WAS STILL ALIVE! 🙂 Things are really a struggle for you, I can tell that with your posts, but my hope is that you keep putting one foot in front of the other. That’s all I ask. I hope that nursing financial aid stuff works out for you too.
I never thought I’d still be alive either and so like you always find it hard to make long term plans or think into the future at all. Definitely never thought I’d live past 21…. but low and behold somehow I’m 24.
Well happy old person birthday!
Congrats, and all the cliche’s to go with.
October is to you what May is to me – the coming winter looms over everything. You need sun girl! Wish you could come out here, it’s spring, life is full of possibilities and it feels like coming out of hibernation. I guess deep down we still have our very primitive instincts and our mentalness is simply a result of not understanding that anymore. Go with the flow, and know that we are not bipolar for nothing, we are bipolar because our moods change constantly from one extreme to the other. What I’m trying to say is that you should hang in there, at the end of this down curve there will be an upswing. You know that. Just be.
I am convinced there’s something wrong with autumn. Especially September-October.
In my case, it’s September the evil month and October’s my birthday. Recently I posted something about this.
Well, I wish us good luck. It would be nice if we could sleep it off (!) ,although I don’t think that’s possible.. Argh
I find it difficult t concentrate during your longer contributions what with the BP and all that.
But no one gets in a buzz over a B cup and Primart pants are a false economy.
Happy Birthday-no joke
I have an old lady trolley. It’s cow print and I call it my wheely deeley.
I’ll be 27 in November. I was really depressed at my 25th birthday (quarter of a century on this cesspit planet) and my 26th (officially into my late 20s) but now I don’t really give a fuck. I don’tfeel like an adult, though (well, not one of this age, anyway). I still think of myself as being about 18, and am always stunned when I see people who are actually 18 looking so much younger than me.
But yeah, still here, which is rather stunning. Very glad you are too 🙂 x
We never stop aging that’s a given, but what most of us don’t realize….. even if we know….. we don’t stop changing. I think ceasing to change is ceasing to live….I’m 41 now with psychosis, hallucinations and all, I’m alive more than most people are in this world…it might not seem as if I’m living, but once I come through I’m making up for down time, sometimes it might seem unbearable, but it’s that “I’m way too tired to do anything” feeling that propably keeps us going in some kind of demented way, and once our moods level out make inventory of that episode and catalog it. In the future to come you could look back and say Damn I made it through that one too….HAPPY BIRTHDAY LUV!
Happy Birthday! I’d love to be 25 again. Enjoy!
I’ve just turned 25 too and I still feel like a kid =( My breasts are just about the same as yours though! and i’ve put on a lot of weight =(
You are not where you were 4 years ago…
And happy-B !
G.
we have the same birthday, so happy belated birthday. i find your blog so helpful. i too have dealt with depression and cutting. i recently got discharged from an RTF, it saved my life. it was definitely a wake up call for me. don’t get me wrong, i still get the urges, but i like to read your blog, and it gives me hope, so thanks