Day 61

Happy Birthday to me.  Yes, I’m a year older today, 33 to be exact, though I’m not planning to celebrate much. Not because I feel terribly old or ashamed of my age or anything (though I do pine for my 20s quite often), but simply because birthdays have always been very anti-climatic for me, so I’ve simply learned not to get excited about them.

The best I do for myself today is let myself sleep in late, though that’s mostly because I had a terrible night’s sleep last night and couldn’t drift off properly. I think it was gone 5AM when I actually got some proper sleep.

I wonder where all my energy came from yesterday?

I eventually got out of bed at 8.49AM to the news that a client had paid me £171.26. So I transfer that into my regular bank account, and then get on with the normal routine of making tea, hot water bottle and an omelette.

I sit down with my omelette to go over a few websites and respond to happy birthday wishes on Facebook.

I also check my email and see that I’ve got some work to do, which is disappointing, but it is only proofreading some social media stuff, so I decide to get that taken care of and out of the way so that I can concentrate hopefully on enjoying the rest of my day.

9.31AM – WORK

Soundtrack for this job is The Sun, the 2014 album by Somali Yacht Club

That only actually took me 23 minutes, then I get to sit down and actually get my day started properly by writing out my daily TDL.

After that, I get distracted by Facebook again (this is the reason why I deleted it from my phone in the first place. But I did manage to get a new post out to try and drum up some likes for the Home Computer Lessons page.

After that, I grab another tea (my last of the day hopefully), and sit down to get back into my normal routine, albeit hours after waking.


I write in my gratitude journal about how grateful I am to have got through another year, and how my life has gotten progressively better since coming into sobriety. I’m not sure if this is despite -or because of- the challenges I’ve faced in my life.

This is the start of a brand new year for me, and I am very happy with it.

Next, I do one of my favourite meditations:

That always makes me happy and puts me in a good place for the rest of my day. I’m still not very “good” at meditation, but that doesn’t matter as much as the way it makes me feel, and this instance, it makes me feel positive.


I go through the normal routine, adding in some leg exercises for my bad knee that has been hurting me lately.

I figure the more I do, the better I will be.

Then I shave, shower, brush my teeth, and get dressed.


Late last night, I got an email from somebody asking if I wanted to take part in writing something for something called National Freelancer’s Day on June 8th. It sounds fun, so I need to reply, and do that this morning.

I just reply saying “yes, tell me what you want from me” and then I get on to the next thing.


Yes, I understand that this isn’t the most fun thing to be doing on my birthday, but it is essential and important.

Doing that at least gets me another weekly goal off my list.

As I’m doing that, I can see more work coming in from my clients, but I’ll do that later, first I have to go visit my parents to pick up my birthday card.


I head down there and pick up my card, then head back feeling sorry for myself. I’m more upset than I want to admit that I haven’t heard from my brother, my sister, or my nan today.

2017-05-17 09.00.19

This is why I’m not a big fan of birthdays, I get this dumb idea that it might be a nice day, but then I allow myself to get upset. I do it every year.


I reason that I’m probably just upset because I’m tired and hungry, so I get back and use up the rest of my crumpets with a bit of cheese. Yes I know, not healthy, but it’s my birthday, so all rules are off.

Whilst I’m doing that, Dad calls, and I think it’s to do with my birthday, but it’s just to ask me if I can go down to the house tomorrow.

This is dumb. Why am I letting other people dictate how happy I am?

There is no need for it.

I go back to this playlist of songs by Counting Crows and similar bands that I used to lift my mood when I was depressed at the start of the year.

The minute Adam Duritz starts channelling Rod Stewart, a smile comes on my face, and there’s a certain happiness.


I just have a couple of short descriptions that I have to write.

I do that, and get yet another email about this missing piece of content.

I can’t seem to explain to anybody that nobody has asked me to do the piece they’re asking me for. The piece I sent this morning is going to be the missing one.

Fuck em, I feel like fucking shit today.


I just feel beat up, lousy, throwing myself the world’s biggest pity party. I hurt physically and emotionally, I’m tired physically and mentally. I just feel like today, today I can’t do this.

I crash on the sofa with a bar of chocolate, and nod off, but still don’t get the proper sleep I need.

4.08PM – WORK

I feel like crying, and I don’t know how to make this go away, especially as every time I turn around there’s a new email “can you just do this” – I wouldn’t even feel as bad if they’d just give me a list and ask me to work through it, but it’s like they’re making things up on the spot today.

Can’t I just have one day off today?

There is a logical part of me that knows this is probably self pity, but there is an emotional part of me that just wants to feel how I’m feeling til I get through it. That’s all I can do, go through it, coldly, and get through.

Now the task is write a Linkedin post.

After doing that, I lose track of time because I’m back and forthing with Sam a bit.

I need to do something now to make this day not a waste.


I decide if I get nothing else done today, at least planning out this article will be something. I already have the introduction done, and actually plan to just write out a brief guide to how to finish it, but instead I devote two hours to actually writing the whole thing, adding 1243 words to my total and finishing another weekly goal.

Day salvaged, but I still feel low.

The article is called:

Does Champix Actually Work? Yes – But Only as a Last Resort 


I’ve been meaning to get round to doing this for weeks – going through the pictures I took in London ages ago, editing and organising them ready to be uploaded.

That takes me the rest of the night, all whilst I end up woozy and sick from camomile tea and co-codamol.

At 11.03PM I go to bed and will write a thing tomorrow because i am broken.

Fuck birthdays.


I’m writing this the morning after because I just gave up yesterday, but on Wednesday I will not give up.

My depression does not define me. The way I acted on my birthday will not define me.

Wednesday will be a day that I do good things and make myself, and Sam, happy.


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