Happy birthday to me

I'm not where I thought I would be at the age of 31. I thought my career would be soaring and I'd be well on my way to that job I've always wanted - political officer at the UN.

Instead, I'm living in my parents' holiday home, on social welfare and disabled with PTSD manifesting in serious depression and insomnia. I have no career. I can get it together enough to write a few rants and to garden a little but it's not what I wanted. It's not what I planned.

I just have to accept that things are different now. I've got to give up my plans and ambitions. I've got to focus on things besides self-harm. I've got to work within my limitations. It would make me so angry if I could feel it, if the drugs didn't work. I am limited by my mind and body. It's not fair but it's the way it is.

Happy birthday to me.