The Anniversarial Aureate
Birthdays are important to me – they always have been. To some it is a signifier of age; of another year gone by, and a new one beginning. A birthday often brings together those closest to the celebrant, be it family, friends, or otherwise. To me, while these descriptors hold true, a birthday is not only an anniversary of the start of my life, but instead, is a celebration of having made it thus far. Not only through another year, but through all of the trials and tribulations that occurred previously and concurrently.
A birthday celebrates the overcoming of obstacles and the grandiosity of achievements that one accrues as they age.
Having only entered my 24th year, it is often assumed that my trials have been negligible; my achievements few; and my experience quite immature. Yet, from the perspective of the experiencer, I know the values ascribed to each of my experiences, both personally and socially, and how these values differ.
Most importantly, as is especially common amongst my community, the celebration of a birthday is important solely because the celebrant most often did not envision their life lasting this long. Personally, my battle with suicidal ideation settled my psyche on dying before the age of 18. Though I dreamt of a life full of varied experience, love, and passion, it did not seem achievable. The dread, guilt, shame, and depression cast onto me was plenty enough burden to desire death.
Following my eighteenth birthday, I’ve made an effort to celebrate myself by any and all means possible — however I’d like to. Of course, even my wants are still influenced by the tangential restrictions placed upon me. Namely, by my own choice, I would not have seen my parents for my birthday after age 18, yet, because of my love for my siblings, and the unnecessary parental rule barring us from being alone together, my parents have consistently still been in attendance. Finally, that has ended.
I can feel my life continuing to change.
The celebration of my life heading into my 24th year, actually began last year, at my golden birthday party. Golden, here, does imply that my guests wore that color, but also described the age I was turning. Born on October 23rd, my 23rd year, is meant to be golden. I made it so. I celebrated by inviting those closest to me throughout all walks of my life — family, friends, lovers, exes, old friends, coworkers, classmates, and the like. We kicked off my golden year in the richest way possible: with love.
My golden year saw a breakup, my graduate acceptance, my graduate deferral, the genesis of my publication, and an immeasurable amount of cathartic reflection.
My golden year has changed me.
The sweet, kind love of my most recent ex launched my bout of introspection. Why isolate myself from him if this was what I desired? The answer; I was not ready.
The achievement and motivation to succeed in graduate school was granted opportunity, but I have not yet seen it through. Why? I am unready.
The genesis of my publication and its subsequent catharsis was, in fact, almost paralyzing. Why? I was ready. Though I was unaware I would be sharing the intimate details of my sex life, the brutal nature of my trauma, and my personal feelings regarding my development, I knew I was ready to begin writing and begin sharing. Doing so, has afforded much further development.
These days, I am confident in my writing and take pride in its publication. I do not fear who reads my stories, instead I welcome it. I do not fear the gravity with which the detailing of my experiences reaches; I find its existence critical.
A portion of my audience has questioned my intent, and whether or not revenge – vindication – is a significant player. For those of you still curious; I’ll happily re-iterate: I write to document. I tell of the experiences I’ve had so that they exist permanently. My experiences may one day be forgotten by me, by you, and by all those involved, but yet, they will live. My queer ancestors have often lacked this documentation; They are not able to be remembered, even if we tried. Entire existences have been erased, nullified; Mine will not.
I do not wish harm on my parents, my exes, or sexual partners. I wish them each, individually, and all others mentioned, lives full of happiness and success. I wish for their understanding of difference. Perhaps it is less important to ponder the author’s intent, but instead, to ponder why the reader believes an author’s intent to be as such. In other words, how does the projection of perception and intent alter the experience? After all, would you see vindication in the celebration of a birthday? Perhaps not.
In any case, if you wish to perceive me as such, I will not ask you to change. I shall only ask you to think through it again. Any word you read, at least from me, you can be certain, is intentional.
Alas, this development continues. Though I am certain of my intent and its lack of vindictiveness, I am keen to recognize a pattern. Naturally, if a statistically large portion of the audience sees vindication, perhaps vindication might be present. Again, I take the route of the un-natural; Patterns are sometimes simple and sometimes complex. Let us not relegate, but instead, analyze whether a broader pattern is at work. It may be the case that my experiences are socially constructed to be diminished, muted, or refined. It may be the case that you are expected to see these works as vindictive. Applying a queer lens will assist you here.
As I continue developing, I have achieved another life-long goal: my residency is – for the most part – concealed. I no longer fear an unwarranted or unwanted visitor. Only those whom I welcome personally are privileged to experience my life. Because I failed to protect myself and was failed to be protected from the temptations of death, I now take each and every precaution necessary to do so.
Not only is my residency private, but I have tailored it perfectly. My roommate is my best friend. My mother and best friend live around the corner. My sister and best friend live across the street. My home is rural, suburban, and urban. My boyfriend lives in the next state over, yet my bed is his home nonetheless. To have spent my life living in fear of the home I was in, and having this place to call my own, brings me bliss.
I was always told I would not find people who loved me outside of those I was born unto. I was told I would not find support, love, or compassion. I believed I would be isolated, and forced to exist under the weight of another’s burden. Yet, just as The Beatles suggested, I have found, achieved, and maintained these things I was destined to never find; All with a little help from my friends.
These friends live amongst me, celebrate my birthdays, support me in my losses, and are proud of my achievements. These friends have taught me love, how to love, and how to share the intimacies of my life without fear. These friends embolden my passions, uplift my ideas, and provide their guidance when my path has altered.
Undoubtedly, I am certain: My path will alter more. Life is nothing if not an ebb and flow. Today, what is gold dazzles more than ever before. The golden lining of my life has realized itself: life is worth living. Still, an aureated life is not all there is. I will continue to shine, shimmer, and glean, but the year that lies ahead necessitates a more-fortified thematic material: enamel.
After all, I only got by, by the skin of my teeth.