My birthday, and the most depressing day of the year. From when I was a child every birthday was worse than the last. There would be arguments and tears, kicks and punches (psychologically). Mum and I would stop talking, sometimes for days after. Even if I tried celebrating after this day, something would go wrong. I think it was around my 16th birthday when I stopped giving a shit. For a few years after, my family would try to encourage me to do something with them or with my friends but I didn’t have any desire to. Now we don’t even discuss my birthday at home. My sister still tries, actually she probably gets more excited than I do, but my answer is always “nothing”.
The emotional association started today, when I said I would bake a cake and mum told me not to. I replied “do you know it’s 1st August tomorrow” and mum raised her eyebrows at me saying “yes, so what do you want for your birthday?”.