Another year older. The day of my birth. 24 years is quickly approaching, and I’m not very excited about it. I posted last year shortly after my birthday exactly why I don’t enjoy celebrating my birthday. I’ve only had a couple birthdays where I was truly happy and excited, and enjoyed being surrounded by family and friends who wanted to celebrate my birth. But the past couple years, and many years growing up, I was completely miserable. I just wanted to forget the day even happened. 

I think I felt that way for so long was because I felt like no one did care about my birthday. That no one really was happy that I was here and I made it through another year. If I’m being completely honest, part of me still feels that way. Don’t get me wrong- I know my family loves me and is happy to have me around, but I don’t feel like anyone would ever want to do anything for me. To make me smile, to make me happy, to make me feel appreciated. Because I give. That’s my role in most of the “relationships” I have. I give to others. I’m there when they need someone, I help out when I can, I’m always a phone call or text message away, I provide support. But I’m not celebrated. 

In less than three weeks, I will be twenty four years old. I’m not looking forward to my birthday. I’ve gotten to the point to where I don’t even want to celebrate my birthday. It’s just another year older. I will be trying my best to remain positive, to be happy that I have made it through another year, celebrating my own success and hard work. I don’t need a party, I don’t need presents, I need to be able to appreciate myself and celebrate myself by myself. Maybe this year that dreaded day won’t be so terrible. 

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