Actually, I remember some good birthdays, but mostly the crappy birthdays.
When I turned 16, the awful guy I was with (I hadn't realized how awful yet) didn't even say 'happy birthday.' We were on a bus trip, and when I told him how mad I was, he turned on the waterworks until I was the one apologizing. I consider this the spot where the abuse started.
When I turned 19, my "best friends" (one of which had just taken over my boyfriend) took over my TV and VCR to watch "Top Gun," a movie I had no interest in seeing, because they knew I wouldn't stop them. I ended up in tears to my mom without even being sure why. This was enough for her to tell our family doctor to put me on the first round of antidepressants. (Yeah, he does what he's told.)
Mostly I remember the bad ones.