Tomorrow it’s my birthday. I’m anxious. But at least I know there won’t be any tears this year! For the first time in history! (Or, maybe there will be tears, but since I haven’t been able to shedding them lately, I don’t think anything will change tomorrow … or, maybe it will, who knows, it’s become a tradition by now to cry on my b-day after all! Buhu, life sucks!)
I do have plans, but I’m super worried that they won’t turn out good, and that I’ll be reminded that I should die by the end of the day. It’s strange with becoming a year older, you hear that voice in your head, the one that is oddly familiar with the boy next door who used to tell you how much you sucked. I mean, it’s often there, but on a day like that, it’s there more, because you shouldn’t be allowed to feel the happiness that is often associated with those days. You shouldn’t even’ve become a year older. You should’ve died already. That voice, however familiar to the boy next door and to the teachers in elementary and your long time friend who should’ve known better, most of all it’s familiar to your own. Because that is what it does to you: it manipulates you to start tormenting yourself, because all they say is true, so you’ll tell the truth too, right? It’s that, or knowing that they are wrong, and feeling that they are wrong, and seeing that no one does anything about it. Somewhere along you learned that it was easier thinking you deserved it. So all these years later, when turning a year older, making it through all those 365 days, you hear that voice again, shouting in your head, that you’re not worth it. But as I said, I do have plans, and I’m gonna meet some great friends, and maybe some hugs and being surrounded by love (oh, cheesy!) will make that stupid voice fade.
Now I’m gonna go to bed, showered and smooth, and read some chapters in Divergent, before I fall asleep into the clean sheets I just put on. I’m gonna try not to worry about tomorrow, the first thing I can do to not let it get bad is to be rested.
PS: Wow, reading this my life sounds so privileged and good. Well sometimes the pain doesn’t shine through, and I should probably be happy with being able to put up a sweet exterior. The truth is I’ll be happy (read: ok) if I get through tomorrow without any new scars and a couple of hugs.
For some further reference, check out my birthday last year: What defines your happiness?