My fortieth birthday, way back in February, passed uneventfully.  I was in the hospital for an asthma attack at the time.  There was a quiet celebration, my mother brought some things to decorate my room, and the hospital kitchen made me a special little cake.  All and all, I thought it was nice, even with being in the hospital.

I did not feel any older, unlike past birthdays.  I was thankful for making it to forty.  That time last year, I had been planning my suicide and had not anticipated even being alive by the time I was forty.  This was probably the first birthday that passed where I did not think about how old I was.

Since I am not focusing so much on my age anymore, I really seem to notice it when someone my age talks/posts about how old they are, or how old they feel.  I started thinking about how many of us make little jokes, that have some truth thrown in, about our age.  That is when something became apparent to me.  At the ripe old age of forty, I feel younger than I did at twenty-five.

How is this possible?  I believe I know the answer. Living most of my life filled with constant anxiety and worry, always expecting the worst to happen wore me out, all the way down to my soul. It made me feel much older than I really was. As each depressive episode came, the feeling that I was incredibly old grew.  The last depressive episode, the one that lasted the longest and almost cost me my life was the worst.  I was an old person trapped in a young person’s body. My body began to rapidly catch up with the old person living inside of me.

As my anxiety, worry and depression have begun to dissipate, I have felt less burdened, less worn out, and not nearly as old as I once did.  My soul is no longer weary.

Life with a mental illness can hard, tiring and cruel.  It makes me wonder how many people with a mental health issue have felt or feel like I used to.  Old before their time.