I was 14 when I first realized that I didn’t have the usual excitement most teens had for their birthdays.

On my fifteenth birthday, one Friday in April, I happened to be writing one of my basic entrance exams. I don’t know if it was the exams, but I was dull and unexcited. Maybe I was just a child still grappling with what it meant to sit with heavy emotions.

I’d like to add that my family was always there for me; they made efforts to make my birthday special.

I,however, just couldn’t shake off the uneasiness I felt in the days leading up to the day and the day itself.

Over the years, I would fake excitement, but then cry on that day. In 2022, I promised myself I wasn’t going to let the blues win; but it did, and I broke down.

Two years ago, I decided to get a photoshoot. I wanted to do something. But on the day of the shoot, a few hours before the slated time, I literally had to push myself out of the room. It felt like a chore. I was disheartened for reasons unknown to me.

Eventually, a friend had to convince me to go before I did.
That same year, I decided to celebrate my birthday the week before. When my sister asked why, I told her my birthdays never felt right; something she reprimanded me about.

Fast forward. I woke up unwell that fateful morning and spent more than half of the day at the hospital. I returned home drained and beaten down.
If this turn of events was due to my negative anticipation or expectations, I cannot tell.

To be continued…