So tomorrow’s my birthday. July 22nd. That’s why I am doing this post a day early. I don’t want to have to be “eviscerated” tomorrow. I don’t want to have to embrace any feelings. Rather, I’d like to be free of them. For once.
Usually when my birthday rolls around, I am very excited. It is the ONLY time of the year that my material instincts get to kick in and I covet every good gift. Shit. Like my own full moon. I grow hair out of my ass and fangs and by Jimmy, I lust and lust and luuuuuuust after presents. My customized Christmas. This year, before the month of July started, I had it all planned out. Surprise deliveries at work(I have always wanted to walk into my office and have all these nice things waiting for me and common, let’s be real, I kind of deserve it), surprise hoo-haas at home, the phone calls, the other random deliveries, more cake and wine than I could ever consume… yes, I wanted it all. Just on this day. If the rest of the year chooses to be crappy, my birthday wasn’t supposed to be part of it. But not so now that the D day is around the corner. Not so.
As I sit and write this post, I am working on fumes. There is nothing that I care about at the moment, and I am tired in my mind. So so tired. It was a lot of work getting out of bed and getting ready for work. I simply just wanted to stay in bed, not eat, not talk to anyone, not bath… just lay there and pretend that I was sinking into the blankets. I wasn’t a very vain person to start with and now I couldn’t care less if I looked like Big Bird from Sesame Street. I wear my running shoes outside every morning but I can’t run. Then I go back to bed and eat all the types of food that I hate to eat on a normal day. Now my skin is unhealthy because I haven’t had the mental energy to work up a detox plan as I normally would. And to make matters worse, I have to smile and pretend like it is all okay. I have to joke with the guys at work, gotta smile at the female colleagues so that they don’t feel offed(can you imagine?), gotta sound happy when my friends call me up to give me one random gist or the other… gotta be Sonia The Diva. The congenial one. The life of the party. The flipping people’s person.
I used to be so happy. I was like Pink in her “Raise your glass” song. Too school for cool, nitty-gritty dirty little freak, never anything but loud… that was me. Booyah! It was a constant party in my head, and I was the hip rock star. Now I think that this is the FIRST time in my life, that I will openly admit that I am not happy. Flipping AA. I am scared when night comes because I know that I will wake up in the middle and feel like I can’t breathe. And if I do manage to sleep, I will wake up in the morning feeling like I am carrying the weight of the world on my small chest. I cannot listen to music because it will make me feel deeper, salt on the wound so to speak. So I just exist. Not caring about a thing. Numb as fuck. Big gaping hole in my chest. Crying in my sleep. I go through the motions, but I am not even sure what the motions are. Not even my collection of books and shoes(I don’t even wear the damn things, I should throw them out already!) brings a smile to my face. Not my tight ass or the sexy birthmark(please define sexy) on the inside of my calf. Not my epic voice or my hilarious dancing. Nothing makes me shine teeth. No-thing.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I raised my glass to take a sip in the middle of the party and boom! My glass turned up empty. No one actually gives a damn. Concerned maybe, but no one really really cares. They do not want to get sucked up so they dance around you. You think you know what to do when this happens but shit, you really don’t. That fact that you are insignificant, useless, that everything is a lie and that the lies are everything, the fact that no one cares if you live or die, that you don’t matter. If I got me a shitload of apple seeds, crushed them, made me some arsenic and drank it, there are those who would actually be relieved. Like, shit, that chic was a lot to handle. Better gone than here, she is. That… that really really sucks.
I don’t know how all of this is supposed to pan out, but I know this for sure. That I will put my knowledge of anatomy and medicine to good and proper use and carve up like thanksgiving turkey anyone that ever tells me how special or unique or different or gifted or loved I am. I sooo don’t ever want to hear that for as long as I live. Ever. I just want to get through the days and feel as little as possible. That’s all.
Happy birthday to you Sonia.
Happy fuck**g birthday.