Quarter

Yesterday (being technical here, since it's already March 2nd) was rough.

I've been having a tough week and a half... but yesterday was... special.
I started the day (12 AM) with my godson getting online, skyping me, and serenading me with his guitar for 2 hours. He was doing requests... and I had him play "From the Bottom of my Heart" and "Nothing Else Matters" I don't know how many times... up until I cried. He made me promise not to cry for the rest of the day.

Promise I couldn't keep.

Prior to going to bed, I remembered I had to open a letter I wrote to myself on my 21st birthday.
It was a to-do list of 30 items.
I completed 12.5.

Reading the letter made me cry... it broke my heart... and I cried hard... so hard. It was a strange cry... I would try to stifle any loud screams... but squeaks would escape me.
I went to bed around 4 in the morning... eyes swollen shut... of fucking course.

I woke up at around 9 AM to the worst Charley Horse imaginable on my left thigh. I have no idea what the hell hat's all about... but the pain is still present, and it nearly made me pass out while at the gym later in the night.
I was unable to celebrate with cake or alcohol... why? I have a parasitic infection. Yes... going to Mexico so often finally caught up to me. I'm on a no fats, sugar, dairy, or alcohol diet due to the fucking worms living inside me... those bastards thrive on foods containing such ingredients. Miserable existence, I tell you... fucking miserable.

SO, once I was able to move out of my bed (11:30 AM, no lie) I proceeded to check my mail... thank everyone for their well-wishes and whatnot (I do appreciate it, don't get me wrong if it sounds snooty of me to dismiss it like that)... answer some calls and text messages... then I cried some more.
At about 3 PM, Dad walked into the kitchen as I washed the dishes... I told him I was turning 25 today, he responded with "Wow... that's... old... and it only makes me older. Girls... when they get to that age... get a little... antsy... you know... looking for... a ring."
Thanks Dad.
A couple of minutes later, Dad came back into the kitchen.
"Well, don't I have a present for you. Says here that... you're no longer covered by my health insurance..."
He then proceeded to read me the policy... I bit my lip to hold back my tears.
Yey.
I never heard him say "Happy Birthday." He didn't even hug me.

I cried some more, up until I got a phonecall from MGH's bro. He sang to me... again. He asked what I was doing... I told him about my intestinal issue. Pity party.

I sat around and answered some more texts and e-mails.
The whole time... noticing MGH was MIA. He was on-line... just not... talking to me.
Our mutual friends were holding conversations with me via FB... yet he was staying mum.
It killed me.
I cried some more.

Come 7 PM, after The Buried Life, I decided I would go to the gym.
Arriving to the gym... who do I see? The boy who broke the hell out of my spirit my senior year of high school... the boy who caused so much trauma in my last month of high school... the boy responsible for my reluctance to look anyone in the face that final month.
I sat in the car for 5 minutes... giving him time to get in the gym, check in... and get lost.
I hadn't seen him  in 7 years... why today?

I came home... cried some more.

He never wished me a happy birthday... he didn't say a fucking word to me... and my heart broke... but I couldn't cry.

Birthday food? Spaghetti... 3 crackers... 1 green juice... 2 teas. Yey. 
I couldn't even get drunk to forget.


I fucking HATE my life.