32 today. So many people think that I celebrate my birthday and I so rarely do. Secretly I want people to make it a huge deal and nobody ever does and that's all my fault because I order everyone not to.
27 years ago. Amazing....27 years and it hurts like it was yesterday. My chest still gets tight and I still cry and I was only 5 and the memories should be gone by now and they should have been replaced by now. My birthday should mean something cool and not the most awful thing to ever happen to me.
Somewhere in an album somewhere there is a photo of me on my 5th birthday, only I'm pretty sure the day is wrong because my mother couldn't remember what date I was born on. Guess it just didn't fucking matter enough to her. My aunt thought my birthday was the 3rd and my mother insisted it was the 5th so my aunt had two birthdays for me because she didn't want to get it wrong. So the picture of me on my 5th birthday is on November 5 and my birthday is today...yet amazingly it is one of the earliest pictures of me because my mother burned all the other ones. There are a few, my grandma had some…but the bulk of them, gone.
You'd think I'd just give a big heave ho to the bullshit finally, almost 30 years and still hanging on.
Happy Birthday. I'd secretly like a ticker tape parade just for me and secretly I think I don't ask for one because the people I want the most to show up wouldn't. Its why I don't have weddings and why I won't go to my graduation next quarter. It just hurts less when you don't ask because then they didn't come because there wasn't anything to come to....not because they don't fucking care.
Yep, my birthday turns into a pity party…poor me. Sometimes I should just shut up.