My Big Hang-Up

Be forewarned: what follows is a clear display of neurosis, perhaps bordering on insanity. Just so you know.

It’s my birthday next week and there is nothing in the realm of social norms that I dread more than my own birthday party. I usually don’t do anything for my birthday. Last year I planned a very low-key pub night with a small handful of people, and only because it was my 30th and I felt like I should probably celebrate the milestone. But, for the most part, if I end up doing something on my birthday it is a random, last-minute affair. Probably the best birthday I ever had was when I lived in Japan. I hardly knew anyone there so my boyfriend and I just went for dinner. Turns out that the other foreign teachers in my neighbourhood found out it was my birthday while they were all out that night so on their way home they dropped by my apartment with a bunch of dollar store gifts and wine. It was a pleasant surprise and we had a fantastic night. The following year I had just arrived in Edinburgh and I didn’t know a single person in the city. I ended up going to the pub with another girl in the hostel I was staying at, whom I had just met that afternoon. I never told her it was my birthday. We had a few beers and chatted for awhile, then went to bed early. It was a good day and I ended up becoming good friends with that girl for the year we both lived in Scotland.

It’s not that I have a problem with getting older. That doesn’t actually bother me at all. The plain fact is that I just can’t handle the anxiety and the expectations. I can only imagine what a huge disappointment it would be if I were to plan a birthday party and people didn’t come. No one likes rejection. But rejection on your birthday? Worst time ever. I would gladly host a party or plan an outing any other day of the year — and I do — but on my birthday I would rather just stay home alone and avoid even the remotest possibility of hurt feelings.

So this year, my boyfriend told me that he was going to plan something for my birthday. I didn’t ask him to, and I didn’t expect him to, so the fact that he was going to do it anyway was really nice. I’m open to doing something, as long as I don’t have to arrange it myself. Somehow, if someone else puts on the party, it feels as if the results have no personal bearing on me. The thing is, I am positively bubbling over with anxiety about it. I can’t stop myself from forming all kinds of expectations, good and bad, and I’m so wound up about it that I actually started to cry this morning.

I’m sure it will be just fine. Maybe everything will go smoothly and I’ll finally be able to work through this little hang-up of mine. But really, I’d rather just hide in my bedroom for the next couple of days until all of this blows by me.

Yes, I am insane.