Tomorrow it my birthday – I will be 53, and I cannot believe that I here in one piece.
For most of my life, I refuse to think of a future, thinking I would be alive to enjoy it.
But I did not die – I was not murdered, I did not succeed in my suicide attempts – my body kept having a stubborn will to stay alive.
For most of my life, I could not understand why I would not die.
I was furious at life and living – my fury hiding my pain, grief and need for real love.
I spent years, decades trying to die.
I try to eat as little as possible, I stop sleeping, I walk to a state of exhaustion.
All done to run away from reality, to place myself in a zombie-state – a world of no emotions, no pain and no need for human contact.
I could know reality – it was too real, too much agony, too much chaos, too much being vulnerable, and far too much terror.
I made my life a haze, only knowing I was alive coz time keep moving on.
But, somewhere deep in me, was a force of life.
The life that heard and memorised music.
The life that needed films to see and be surrounded by.
The life that slowly know it fancies women.
The life that always follow Arsenal.
The life that notice birds, trees and architecture.
And the life that always remember it was my birthday.
Each birthday mattered – even in the hell of child abuse, the hell of prostitution – I always needed to celebrate that somehow I was alive.
I must admit today, I am depressed with memories and knowing that I am just lucky not to be dead.
But though tomorrow will very quiet, especially as my last food shop left me broke.
I have some of fave food for tomorrow, my music, some presents, TV and radio – so I will living it up.
I am here – that is amazing.
So every birthday is a wonderful gift to my childhood, teens and twenties.