I write a lot lately how I’m feeling confindent and well and on my birthday it crumbles to insecurity, unloved, even feelings of being hated.
I think people care about me the same way I care about them and it’s always a let down. I’m so hurt, ashamed I even asked people to come.
Then at home, all the things I do for other people are gone too. No happy birthday, no cards, no cake, no breakfast. Just nothing. It was a blip. Just a day to everyone but me. But to me, it was a milestone. It was a celebration of a life that has been scarred by cancer, threatened with death, body parts gone. And no one can have care or concern for the one person who makes everyone else’s day special.
I’m not angry. I’m hurt. Crushed. All confidence from yesterday’s posts melt into that little girl.
Birthdays are important to me. I know not to most adults. But now it’s over. The party I didn’t have, the cake that’s never to be made. The candles I didn’t get to blow out. The song no one sang. And I’m alone. Crying, hurting. It’s real and raw.