I have never hated my birthday. I always loved my birthday. I reminded family and friends for weeks that one was coming...in the past. I always wanted a party with tons of noise and food and people. I relished watching everyone having a great time at my expense. Go ahead. Tell me how old I am. I love a good put down.
But not this year. This year I just want to be left alone to wallow in my mental misery. I have been told by a few people that I love dearly that I am a liar. That nothing I say on this blog is true. That it is all just my twisted, warped perception of things. Well…..yeah! What did people expect this was about…their view of things? I never asked anyone to read this crap. I never asked anyone to believe this drivel. I wrote this for me…..because I was afraid I would forget. I started this blog because I was watching my dad die and I was overwhelmed with fear that when he finally was gone, I would be gone too. So I started to write because I thought maybe it would help keep me sane and alive. I never meant to hurt anyone. I did this for me. I’m selfish like that.
The poor me truth is, something awful has happened to me. When my dad died, all my joy seemed to go with him. I just want to go home. I want to sit with my parents at their kitchen table and listen to them argue. I want my stupid mother to tell me how fat I am and how I have wasted my life. I want my butthead dad to offer me money to lose weight, stop having kids or whatever other manipulative thing he thought he could financially bribe me out of. Those people were sick and I miss them and I am miserable today.
I know feeling sick for five days has not helped my mood or attitude. I also know I need serious mental therapy along with medication. Just ask my sisters. I also know I have come to the end of something I have never come to the end of before. I have come to the end of my childhood. My parents are both gone on my birthday and I am really, really pissed off.