I hate birthdays

I haven't written in awhile due to my lack of creativity and overall lack of self-worth. Sigh.
My nineteenth birthday was this past week. The twenty-second to be more precise. And let me tell you,nothing else quite makes a gives a person a nice dose of introspection like a birthday. Not for me anyway.

See,my history of past birthdays seems to take on a recurring pattern. I decide about two weeks before my birthday that some blast of fucking miracle will somehow make this birthday magnificent as opposed to the hellish nightmare that it always ends up to be. Then about a week before my birthday I have One Of Those Days. You know what I'm talking about,a day where you look in the mirror,deconstruct every single flaw that inhibits your body and face,and eventually break down into a crumbled mess of a being. It was That Day. Two years ago on my birthday I was hovering around 100. I fit perfectly in my size zero jeans and I effortlessly picked at my food during my traditional birthday dinner. That is not to say that the other areas in my life were anywhere close to satisfactory. I was dating P,possibly Lucifer himself,and that night in particular was a complete and utter tragedy. I'm not exaggerating one bit. That aside,I thought about how much I weighed last year on my birthday. Also hovering around 100. Maybe 105. (Shitty fucking birthday as well.) Now here I stand,clueless to my weight (I have not had scales since I moved states) yet I know I'm atleast twenty if not twenty-five pounds heavier than last year. I died.

After a few hours minutes of wallowing in my self-pit of shit I picked myself up,threw on the devil horns and developed a new plan. I WILL BE THIN(ER) BY MY GODDAMN BIRTHDAY. I even whipped out the old food diary. I wrote 200 on six pages. Six days until my birthday. Six days I shall not consume more than 200 calories and try to do some form of exercise. Needless to say,I did not follow this plan. Not strictly anyway. I tried my goddamn hardest considering the plethra of obstacles I was facing. For example,on Friday-two days before my birthday and one day before I was ready to even face anybody-Boy's friends decided to bring some liquor and make a night of it. At last minute. Now,I know most people would see this as a kind and celebratory gesture,HOWEVER,my anxiety goes through the fucking roof when I'm given a last minute heads up and practically zero time to get myself looking half-way decent. The fucking roof. I tried on every piece of clothing trying desperately to find one fucking outfit that didn't make me look like a whale. Several disappointing attempts later,I found myself wearing a pear of blue jeans and one of Boy's larger shirts. I was covered in sweat by the end.

I hadn't eaten since the morning so I knew my stomach was empty,save for the occasional glass of lemon water. This was a problem. Drinking hard liquor on an empty stomach is the worst mistake you will ever make. Trust me. And considering I had two of those episodes in the past two months you'd think I'd eat a little something to coat le stomach. No. My logic went a different route. When my anxiety runs high my anger is always one step behind. My frustration led me to refuse food and punish myself with a hangoverfromhell. Mission accomplished. By the end of the night the ground was playing tricks on me. Swerving and shit. Gravity decided to take a night off and soon I found myself lying naked (after undressing for the night,I never wear anything other than pajamas unless we have company or I'm going out) on the couch and hearing Boy repeatedly asking me if I was okay. Apparently my half-ass-grunt-response wasn't convincing him so I used every ounce of power in my pathetic excuse of a body to get up and grab something to soak up the river of whiskey currently in my tum. My fucked up ED mind of course grabbed the lowest-possible-calorie snack of cauliflower and hummus. This was another mistake. This does not soak up alcohol,rather,it makes you want blow cauliflower chunks all over Boy's face.

After awhile I found the energy to get up and get something SENSIBLE to aid my spinning head and hurling stomach. I settled on crackers. Flatbread Italian Herb. I'm pretty sure I devoured 2/3 of the box along with CHEESE. Cheese of all fucking things. I did not need that cheese. The cheese served no purpose. Other than feeding my own disgusting gluttony. I digress.

So then Saturday came along. Had a teensy liquid breakfast and nothing all day. The glorious hangoverfromhell convinced me to eat before I drank that handle of Jack Daniels I bought myself for that very day. I ate seventy calories worth of those crackers and welcomed the night to begin. Several shots,drugs,and hours later it was time to turn in. Not so for this substance-fueled insomniac. I rambled incoherent thoughts to Boy for an hour before he eventually got so fed up with the nonesense that he smoked himself into a stupor. I smoked as well with him but was not granted the same leisure. Naturally,I got about two hours of sleep max.

Then Sunday finally came. D-day,as I call it. For some unfathomable reason I thought that this birthday would be different. This birthday would not be shite like every other year. I was wrong. I'll spare you the details but by Monday I was drained dry of every tear,every dollar my lovely mother worked so hard to send me (thanks to Boy who somehow had gotten it into his mind that it wasn't my goddamn birthday,but all of his friends who he treated with food and drugs,)and had acquired a level of self-loathing that I have not experienced in two years. This is where the introspection came in.. it wasn't pretty.

I realized that I'm alone. Not the kind of alone that everyone experiences once in their life. The kind of loneliness that leaves a giant ball of despair right there in the deepest pit of your stomach. I spend all day alone. I have no friends. Boy's friends are about as close as I can get,and they don't even say anything to me,not even happy birthday. This could easily be remedied by getting a job or going to school,I know this. However,I'm fucking petrified of going to either. I'm scared to death of being alone and this hinders me a great amount. I hate that I'm this way. I hate that I'm still stuck in the same mindset I was in ten years ago clinging to my mother afraid to step in the school. I hate it. I've always enjoyed my self-induced isolation but it is taking it's toll on me. I wonder if I'll gather up the nerve to change my current situation. Judging from my past though,it's not likely.

I hate birthdays.



Satansvomit.