So, August 1st was my birthday. I’ve always wanted to celebrate my birthday. I’ve always been so big on celebrating birthdays, and I’ve always hoped those around me would be just as thrilled to celebrate mine. I did not celebrate my birthday. Why do you ask? Well, it’s quite a long story, and I’ve finally decided to share it.
When I was a kid, I would always stress out about my birthday. It meant I had to be with one parent, and celebrate later with another. I always felt so bad missing out on seeing my mom or my dad on my big day. And when my siblings were born, it meant missing out on celebrating with them. But there was always the upside. I got to have two birthday cakes, two birthday parties, and twice as many presents! (Oh how simple it is to make a kid happy!)
But as I started getting older, I started to dislike my birthday. I was always disappointed. Either I didn’t get to have a birthday party, or my friends couldn’t make it for my party (the struggles of have a summer birthday), my crush at the time didn’t call to wish me a happy birthday. Something totally random that I had hoped would happen, never happened. And it destroyed me every time. Why didn’t I stop expecting things?! Why didn’t I just move forward and not be so focused on getting everything I wanted?!
So what made me just completely give up on my birthday? Well, my 17th ended all hopes and dreams of having a great day. After yet another physical debacle with my step father about my homosexuality, my mother kicked me out of the house. On my 17th birthday. My stepfather gave my mother the ultimatum of choosing between him or me. And she chose him. Days before I started my senior year of high school. As a member of student council, future track team captain, nominated homecoming princess, I had to give up my high school. I moved two hours away, with nothing but my car and my dirty laundry, to my dad’s house. To my dad that I hadn’t seen in a year and a half because the court had deemed him “unfit”. Because my mom wouldn’t let him just come to a track meet of mine without threatening to call the police. On my 17th birthday, my own mother chose her husband over her daughter. I had never thought of myself as an option, until that very moment. When your own mother chooses someone else over you, you start to have serious identity issues.
I tried my best to move past that. Our relationship was strained for quite some time, the only time I would speak to her was when I wanted to see my siblings. She thinks our relationship is better than ever, but to be completely honest, I will never be able to forgive her.
Ever since then, I’ve tried to ignore my upcoming birthday. But by my 18th birthday, my best friend (and girlfriend) had broken up with me, and I was convinced that if she still cared she would try to make my birthday special. She didn’t even text me a “happy birthday”. I was destroyed once again. There I was, thinking that someone that had been my best friend for 10 years didn’t even want to wish me a happy birthday.
19th birthday passed, nothing to remember. I honestly couldn’t even tell you where I was. 20th birthday- my dad took me to Hawaii. I can officially say it was my best birthday I’ve ever had. The only person I saw that day was the only person who had never turned his back on me. I only got a couple text messages from friends wishing me a happy birthday, and that was okay. It was a little sad, but I just tried to remember how lucky I was to be in such a beautiful place for my birthday. 21st birthday- I was dating someone new, and she went above and beyond! A limo picked me up, took me to In N Out, and we ended up at a club for the night. That entire weekend was amazing. Friends took me out, had BBQs by the pool, danced all night, and passed out at 3am. The first time I celebrated my birthday the EXACT way I wanted to. My mom even took me out for dinner that night. Quickly after my birthday, the person I was dating dumped me. And I just wanted to completely forget all the birthday memories I made.
My 22nd birthday, I donated blood. I thought, if God has allowed me to stay on this earth for another year, I was going to make sure three other people would too. (If you’ve ever considered donating, I HIGHLY recommend it. Visit americanredcross.org to find out if you qualify to donate and save three lives.) I did not want to go out, I did not want to see the Facebook posts, I did not want any presents, and I definitely did not want to be sung to. And I got exactly what I wanted. Did it suck? Yeah, it did. But I rather demand nothing than hope for something and get nothing.
So here comes my 23rd. And what happened this year? Let me give you some background info. Well my girlfriend, she just broke up with me. I can’t even begin to explain the pain I feel from it all, because I honestly believe she is the person I’m supposed to be with. I have a couple good friends in my life, I just finished celebrating their birthdays and now it was finally my turn. Unfortunately, my work schedule didn’t work out with my birthday this year. I had to be on-call, which means I sat on my couch in full hair and makeup all day. ALL DAY. Once again, I asked for nothing. And nothing I got. Only two family members called to wish me a happy birthday. Only one friend called to wish me a happy birthday. (Mind you, I just finished celebrating TWO of my friends birthdays.) A friend that I’ve flown half way across the country to visit for their birthday, didn’t even call me on mine. A friend that I’ve known for three years sent me a text message asking, “Is it your birthday today??”. And my (ex) girlfriend? Just a phone call saying happy birthday. In all honesty, I thought she had forgotten. To be even more honest, I still think she forgot and someone reminded her.
How much of a loser must I be to have people that I truly love and care for, not give a shit about my birthday? Seriously? I’m not asking for sympathy, or for anyone to try to act now as a belated birthday. I’m just addressing the thoughts that I’ve had for years. What do I have to do to get people to want to care for me? To want to make my birthday special, to try to wipe away all of the terrible birthdays that I’ve had. What have I done wrong to have people in my life that don’t care enough to celebrate the day I was born?
I’m done. August 1st will never be an important day in my life, ever again. Ever. I’m so done with it. I’m done with my birthday.
That’s why I don’t celebrate my birthday anymore.
And to those that feel I may have called them out, or admitted to private situations, I’m not holding my tongue anymore. I’m sharing exactly how I feel and what I’ve gone through.