It’s my birthday today. I hate it.

I hate the expectation of it. According to everyone, I should have the ‘best day ever’ and have a big party with lots of friends. Instead, I did what I always do (work and care) with the added bonus of syringing grandma’s urine at 6am to take to the doctor as they try to clear up an infection. Happy birthday to me.

I did get a few nice cards from friends and one from grandma that I got when she was card planning at the beginning of the year – I’m a twin so I got two that day. I stopped short of writing out my own birthday card and I acted surprised as I opened the envelope, of course, for the occasion. It is nice to receive those tokens of love and I’m grateful for all my friends who have stuck by me while my life is on hold.

I think that’s it.

This day crystallises all my frustrations and I’m not able to muster an ounce of gratitude for 24 hours as I feel I should be having a nice time or I should at least be doing something other than what I do everyday. An ideal day for me would be having a lie in, having a conversation where I don’t have to repeat myself or explain concepts like email or the internet, and do some horse riding. A day where I don’t have to think about anyone else and do what I like. This is clearly impossible so I ignore today is anything special and wait for the safety of the 30th of July when the expectation disappears and I can go back to ‘normal’.

When you’re an unpaid carer, birthdays and the celebrations most non-carers have, is in direct contrast to the daily reality that we don’t matter as individuals. We only matter in relation to the people we care for, and the birthday wishes (or the mere fact you know what the day is) highlights that disparity even more. I also feel like another year has gone by and I’ve achieved nothing, I’ve wasted another year of my relatively young life.

Apart from fixing the social care system in the UK, there isn’t anything anybody can do to get me out of my sadness and frustration. I’ll be miserable for a day and get over it by tomorrow when I’ll be older and wiser, apparently.

Is this a pathetic pity party? Yes. A bit selfish? Absolutely. But it’s my birthday and I’ll be sad if I want to.