In Celebration of my Birth

I hate my birthdays. All they do is give me the excuse to indulge in self-pity.

I always want my birthdays to be fun and full of love, but they invariably disappoint. Everyone at work is emphasizing how terrible it is that I have to work on my birthday. They don't know that if I weren't at work, I'd have to spend the entire day alone. If I didn't come to work, I would not have received a single hug today - an already rare experience.

I remember my disappointment on my fifth birthday. I thought I'd have a great party with all my friends bearing gifts. There would be snacks, games, maybe a clown, like the movies. I remember looking up at my parents, tears starting to back up behind my eyes, as they explained that we'd have to have a family-only party this year, and how they knew I understood, being such a big girl and all. I wouldn't let the tears out, because I was turning five, and kindergartners didn't cry when they're family needed them. I was devastated to find out that turning five didn't mean finally going to kindergarten and being in school like all my brothers and sisters. I was born too late to get in that year.

I remember my disappointment on my eighth birthday. I'd just moved across the country and had almost no friends. But I decided to have a party anyway, with the few friends I did have. I sat in my big empty house all day waiting for someone to show up. I finally gave up when the one guest that did arrive couldn't stay, but just came to drop off a gift.

I spent my entire twelfth birthday silently brooding, because I had to share my "special day" with my cousin Mark's "special day" and everyone's Thanksgiving day. I didn't even get my own cake with the turkey: it had Mark's name on it, too. He was turning nine -- big deal.

My twenty-first birthday was lonely. My on-and-off boyfriend and I were in a break-up phase, but he took me out for a drink anyway. It was not just awkward, but excruciating, because I was madly madly in love with him and he was good at torturing me. He broke up with me right before every major holiday, especially the ones involving gifts -- those and summer breaks. But it was the only outing I could get, as no one else I knew was 21 yet.

birthdays = disappointment and self-pity