... Hi.
So I'm feeling a little confused and despondent. It's always like this on the day of my birth. Yes. Today is my birthday and I spent the most of the day replying to birthday wishes on my facebook page, wishing me things like 'have a great day' and 'lots of love', but ironically, I think today is when I feel it the least.
A few minutes ago, my parents sang me happy birthday and cut up the cake. I just left them happy in the living room as I walked back to my room barefoot carrying my slippers in my hand. It was like I was bi-polar; smiling at them, grinning like an idiot, to then shedding silent tears onto the dinner table. Somehow, I love my parents for loving me, but sometimes, I just hate my existence. I hate my birthday. It's when I feel the love is most forced.
My brother went out of his way to walk by a supermarket after school to get me a cake. It was a nice chocolate mud cake but a cheap one that smelt of overused baking soda and oil and he beamed with pride as he showed it to me, but it's the only nice thing he's done for me all year. Three petty candles were placed on my cake. I had a sudden urge to immolate all the supermarket brochures lying carelessly on the table and burn the whole house down. Thoughts like these scare myself, but I'm sure it would all be over in a few minutes. The 'family thing' only lasted about 10.
Dad told me to make a wish. I had to say two outloud and the third I kept for myself. In that instant I thought about how stupid wishes were and how I needed THREE of them. Why three? Isn't that a blatant suggestion that the wishes itself are useless - refuting the very purpose of their existence. If I needed three, then the things I'm wishing for are pointless. They should be precious, but they're not. I wanted to cry.
I sat there thinking about what wishes I'd make. The candles burned away and I tapped at the burnt wick with a knife and it fell onto the cake. It swiped the ash off and hope that whoever was lucky enough to receive the contaminated piece would just gorge themselves on my misery and combust so that I'd be free of worry. A gory image appeared in my mind and I blinked it away with melacholic apathy. I remained silent. Dad stood beside me, energetic. 'You made a wish yet?'. 'No'.
I wanted the candles to burn out and melt over the cake so that no one had to eat it and live my dilemma, and so that I didn't have to blow it out and make a wish but then dad kept urging me to make a wish. I hoped that tomorrow would be a fine day. I hoped the day after would be a fine day. I hoped the day after that would be fine also. After I made them I blew out the candle and my heart sank in my chest. I wondered if they were a waste. The sun had better be there waiting for me tomorrow or else I will seriously slit my writst.
I could've hoped for health. For my family to be safe, happy and healthy but oh, no. I fucked that shit up big time. I could've wished for my aunt to get better. I could've wished for a high OP to get into university but you know what. FUCK THAT. FUCK ALL OF IT. I just want to sleep and never wake up. I thought from previous years, they'd understand why I hate my birthday so much. I've always hated it. Always. Ever since they instilled in me the importance of self-sacriffice and money, I've always hated my birthday. It's like I don't deserve to be happy.
Another thing which angers me is the little effort my friends go to make my feel better. I'd much rather them forget than wish me well and be on their way when I go out of my way to buy presents and give them actual, and unforced love. I don't know how this thing works. I hate being 17. I've never even had a birthday party. I'm a fucking selfish little brat. I want to die in a hole. I want to never wake up. I want to put my head in gas and die like Lux Lisbon. I want people to go away. To just go the hell away.
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