Today's my Birthday

You probably read that in a celebratory or happy tone didn't you?

My birthday stopped feeling special when I turned 18. Every year I kept waiting for something special to happen on my birthday because birthdays are so hyped, but nothing happens. To be honest, it's just another day, just with more hope. You feel like you're supposed to be happier but you aren't. Which actually makes me feel sadder. Like, why can't I be happy like everyone else? People tell you how to feel and they smile when they wish you happy birthday, and its a great tradition, but all it does is add to the manufactured hype.

When I turned 17, I started to hate my birthday, March 4. A constant reminder that another year has passed of your life and you still haven't done anything.

Every year I turned older in my teen years, I would feel slightly sad. Another year, living against the norm, against what culture has dictated as fun and exciting. "Your teen years are supposed to be fun and rebellious. You're supposed to be having carefree, consequence free, fun!" "Your teen years are supposed to be the best years of your life!"

"How tragic," I think.

Now they're gone. We got a two year trial of adulthood when we turned 18 and 19. I didn't like it. Adulthood made me want to live alone in the forest or alone in space living off of freeze-dried berries. The independence, responsibility, the politics of navigating the delicate egos of your fellow adults, the sudden realization that innocence is a myth, and the knowledge that nothing is simple or black and white. Why is everything so complex and hard to understand?

But mostly I'm scared. I'm scared that I'm closer to death. And I'm so scared of death. It fills me with a different kind of fear. When I see bees or people I know in public, I feel the typical fight or flight fear, but when I think about death it's something different. Maybe I'm scared because I don't know about it. But the very thought of losing consciousness, the thought of being nothing, the thought of not being able to breathe, visit friends, eat or see nature, or do anything, fills me with dread. The dread of being dead.

Is that where they got the word "dread" from? The very thought of not being able to think or have thoughts fills me with another wave. Not being able to listen to music or write my thoughts down. The very thought of not chasing my passions and living a life of regret and unhappiness because I was a coward and lived how other people wanted me to. The very thought of not doing what makes me happy because I'm scared about what other people. But when we're dead other people's thoughts don't mean anything.

I hate being an adult. My beautiful thoughts about how pretty the Crown Jewels and how much fun it is to ride Space Mountain are all replaced with fears and anxieties about death and regret.

At least my unopened Snapchats look like presents.