Today, July 1st, Is my 22nd birthday. I’ve been dreading it for about a month now. I’m not a birthday person. I don’t want a party. I don’t want any gifts. I can hardly stand a “happy birthday”. And don’t you dare expect to sing that God awful song with the glow of candles lighting my face. My birthday is nothing but one really uncomfortable day of the year.
Of course I loved my birthday when I was young. But after my 12th I’ve always felt a somber tone cover me this time of year. Now that I’m older, the last thing I want to do is celebrate it. I hate being center of attention or even giving myself attention. To me, a birthday is just a reminder of your ticking clock and all the things you didn’t do with the time that has passed. Obviously I’m wired wrong, because it seems to be in human nature to love and celebrate birthdays. But I couldn’t be further from it.Sometimes I try to force myself to enjoy it, but it’s nothing more than a painted on smile and a choked out “thank you” for the birthday wishes. Maybe in some way I feel like you have to deserve to have a birthday, and I don’t feel I do deserve one. Silly thing to think, I know. But as pathetic and somber as it is, it’s quite ingrained in my head. I don’t plan on enjoying my birthday. But I will go about today just as any other day.
Maybe someday I’ll be able to be a normal human being. But today is not the day.