CW:
Depression, suicide
If you are depressed, suicidal, or are worried that you may hurt yourself, please do not read this story.
This world is better with you in it. If you need to talk to someone, please call the National Suicide Prevention Helpline at 800-273-TALK.
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I'd always hated my birthday.
Kids born in the middle of December know a special kind of frustration. Birthdays are supposed to be for you. Sure, you share them with 1/365th of the world's population, but they're still a day for celebrating you. Parties, cake, presents. But if you're born anywhere from about the 15th to the 26th of December? Sorry. Not for you.
Maybe if your parents are rich, or if they're particularly doting. But for the rest of us? Our presents get lumped in with the Christmas ones; they'll just pull one out of the Santa pile, and we'll get one less than our siblings, which we must not comment on. Our birthday parties are pushed aside for Christmas parties. Maybe we'll get a little special dinner if we're lucky. The cake is there, but not much. There's going to be so many sweets on Christmas, and they don't want us to get spoiled.
Mine was one of the worst, December 22nd. Close enough to Christmas that sometimes I had no celebration at all. During the middle of winter break, so not even a shout out at school. And if I complained? "Don't be naughty. Santa's coming in two days!"
Fuck you, October kids. I want what you have.
I was a middle child. My older sister, Anne, was five when I was born. Old enough to resent me for taking my parents' attention. My younger brother, Sean, was born when I was two, so I never really got to know what it was like to be the baby. I've never remembered being doted on or given undivided attention.
I don't know if this lack of affection is why I've always been depressed. It could be that, or it could be that my depression made me less a target of affection for my family, less easy to love. Maybe both; it could easily be a vicious cycle that was perpetuated through my youth.
In my sophomore year of college, my roommate, Ben, saw me researching the least painful way to commit suicide after my first real girlfriend broke up with me. He saw, and he intervened, and he saved my life. He got me to talk to the school psychologist, and she got me talking to a psychiatrist. I owed Ben my life, and I was sad when we lost contact after school.
Between therapy and medication, I got on an even keel again. Some people have depression and can get over it; eventually they can stop taking medicine and going to therapy. I envied them. My depression was more like diabetes. It would require management for the rest of my life.
For people with untreated depression, it's like being in a bottomless pit. They never stop falling. Medication put a bottom on the pit and therapy gave me a ladder to climb out. The pit was still there, and I could fall in again, but I could be in the sunlight sometimes. I could get out when I fell.
By junior year, I was usually pretty happy. I had friends, and I met a girl. Mary. She was wonderful. Funny, smart, kind, and beautiful. She took to me for reasons I still don't entirely understand; I think at least part of it was that she saw I was damaged, and she wanted to fix me. She'd always been compassionate like that. She volunteered at animal shelters, soup kitchens, homeless outreach. I loved that about her, and I quickly fell in love with her.
When she found out about my contentious relationship with my birthday, she went all out. Every year we've been together, she's made it a barnburner for me, trying to make up for twenty years of shitty birthdays. My first birthday with her, I laid in bed with her crying after the party, because I had never felt that much love before.
We married not long after college. It was a happy marriage at first. A content one. Our little eighth floor apartment was filled with love and affection. Evenings spent in front of the TV, nights spent making love. But, sadly, it was only three years before that changed.
At the end of September that year, she started to grow more distant. We were less affectionate. She needed to work more hours. We'd tried to have lunch together sometimes during the week, and that ended. Then the calls started coming, the ones where she'd look at the number and step out of the room. Her phone was suddenly locked. Our lovemaking became less frequent and less intimate.
It came to a head on the 15th of December. I called her office and she was out; she'd told me before that she'd be working long hours that day, as she had so often lately. When she came home, we rowed.
Mary threw her hands up. "God, I had to go out for an appointment! What is the problem?"
"The problem is that I feel like I'm living with a stranger, Mary. What is going on?"
She sighed. "Nothing is going on, Sam. I just forgot I had an appointment today. Do I need to give you a timetable of my whole day every day?"
I rolled my eyes. "Of course not. But..." I shook my head. "Mary, even when you're here, it's like you're not here. I just... Is there something I should know?"
"What? No! No. Of course not. I've just been busy. Look, can we talk about this later? I'm tired, and I just want to eat something and go to sleep." She didn't sound nearly as convincing as she thought she did.
I suspected then. I'm no private detective, though. No electronics whiz. My limited budget precluded anything even as simple as taking a day or two off work to try to tail her. I tried to get a look at her phone when it was unlocked, but no luck there.
On the 22nd, my birthday, she left before I awoke. No birthday wakeup kiss, certainly no birthday blowjob. No card. No indication at all that it was any different from any other day of the year. I didn't realize how much that would hurt again after five amazing birthdays. I dragged myself out of bed and threw a little pity party for myself before heading to work.
When I returned that night, the apartment was dark. I could have sworn I left a lamp on that morning. Then, suddenly the lights came on, and an assemblage of my friends and family yelled, "SURPRISE!" Mary was out in front, beaming, holding a beer for me.
"You thought I forgot, didn't you?" She gave me a kiss, a loving, sweet one. I'd missed these kinds of kisses. Then she went to mingle and make sure the guests were taken care of.
I felt like a fool. She'd been spending all this time getting a surprise party ready for me, and I'd... wait. The banner was from my party three years ago. The decorations from last year. The cake was store bought, with no real decoration, just a "Happy Birthday Sam" hastily slapped on it. Everything was recycled or could have been gotten quickly in the last few days.
I kept a smile on my face, but it was forced. I looked at the assemblage of guests. No one from out of town, just the usual attendees of our parties. As I mingled, I learned that no one had gotten an invite previous to the last week. Her gift to me was very nice, a current generation game console, but the shortages that had plagued their rollout were long since past. She could have gone to a store this afternoon to pick one up.
