Behind the sweaty bodies of people who don’t care whether the birthday girl lives or dies, there is a hallway that leads to a graffiti-covered public restroom. Inside, in a stall, sits a girl who lies and doesn’t care at all. Despite hearing that she has irritable bowel syndrome and that it’s actually a very real thing that she blames on alcohol. Instead, she’s sitting on the toilet, pressing her temple against the wall of her cubicle, holding back sobs and pumping her fists up and screaming. Drenched, she is afraid of smearing her makeup by wiping her tears and wiping her snot that has collected on her upper lip.
She wants to collect herself. She really is. But to distract her, every time she opens her phone, her latest screen appears. Venmo shows a recent transaction from her long-distance best friend that reads, “BIRTHDAY SHOT BITCH!!!!!”
It’s Aquarius season now. So, it’s been a birthday since I last published a column. I’ve always been one of those people who cry on birthdays. On my 17th birthday, I realized that my parents would die someday. I lost my grandmother when I was 18 years old. My 19th birthday was my first day away from home. Turning 20 meant saying goodbye to your teenage years. Now, at 21, I have to face one of the most difficult concepts ever: the idea that I may never live up to my own expectations.
The funny thing is, I love my birthdays and look forward to them all year round. The day before I turned 21, I started with a seemingly minor setback. The dress I ordered to wear for my birthday was delayed and didn’t arrive until the day after I was supposed to wear it. And after realizing I was late for my first appointment of the day, missed the bus, and forgot my assignment, I made a joke that didn’t pan out. The straw broke the camel’s back. At that moment, I stepped onto the steps of William Pitt Union and released the tears I had been holding back since I woke up. Everything I tried to improve my mood backfired and I wondered why I felt I had the right or agency to control my situation when everything I tried clearly wasn’t working. It was a bad day. My best friend came to comfort me and together we decided to skip class and take a mental health day.
I’m incredibly lucky. I have friends that I can be honest with and that I know will help me get through difficult times. I also wisely started processing my difficult emotions before my birthday, and the day itself passed relatively unscathed by remorse. In fact, I would say my 21st birthday was perfect in the most typical way.
Milestones are scary. It’s very scary. There’s immense pressure on this snapshot of your life, what it looks like and what it means about your ability to succeed as a whole. The 21st is your last birthday to celebrate your youth, newness, and potential. The day before I turned 21, I felt like a failure at literally everything.
It’s also important to note that for the first time in my life I could legally consume alcohol, and I drank every night for three days. I didn’t use it to cope with it — I had an appointment I had to attend — but hey, it would have been easy to do. The event of a 21st birthday revolves solely around drinking, and for those who need an excuse, it’s easy to dismiss it as an act of debauchery, when in reality, it’s “drinking because it’s the thing to do.” It’s more like that. And at this point in my life, I’m dying to know what I should do. ”
Alcohol can be an attractive option, especially in moments when you are craving separation from unwanted reality. That’s nothing new. You have less inhibitions and less self-awareness, and are more like a languid lump than a battered wreck. However, that happiness always comes to an end. Suddenly you’re like, he’s 21 years old and you’re throwing up behind a trash can, wondering who would hold your hair back if you didn’t respect yourself a little more.
Sad Person Birthday Culture™ combined with excessive and unrestricted access to alcohol encourages you to forget your sadness. I had 8 drinks for her on her 21st birthday and had her last one all bought for me. There are passive opportunities for substance abuse to occur that no one is talking about. A night of wild, carefree celebration only works if you have enough self-awareness to check yourself and realize that there’s more than debauchery riding on your next drink.
If I hadn’t started dealing with my own shit before that, I probably would have been drinking to drown out the noise in my own mind. Change is scary and avoidance is no substitute for processing. It’s better to cry than to drink for the wrong reasons.
Getting older is a privilege. Birthdays are a time to celebrate a newly conquered year while preparing for the challenges of the coming year, but don’t hold hostage to the emotions of the night. Know your limits. Get to know yourself. Stay smart and stay safe. You are 21 years old and the world has officially decided that you are an adult. The time has come to face the music and shed tears.
Gabriela Herring is majoring in English Writing and minoring in English Literature and Secondary Education. She mostly writes about things that her friends (and her mother) are tired of hearing her talk about. Please email her at [email protected].