Birthday blues

I had not experienced such a smooth birthday in years.
Sometimes I'm angry as fuck... scoffing at the bullshit "HBD" messages others were basically forced into handing me thanks to harassing-ass Facebook.
Sometimes I'm depressed as fuck seeing how someone I held in the highest esteem apparently ignores my birthday.
Sometimes I'm overwhelmed at the thought of responding to so many messages.
Sometimes I'm ecstatic at the simple thought of someone thinking about me for at least five seconds of their day.

It's a mixed bag, and I never know what I'll be feeling.
Last year, I was in absolutely NO position to gamble with my feelings. I knew it was in my complete best interest to pull myself away from the situation all together.
It was so dark, so heavy, so suffocating-- the place I was in exactly a year ago. Breathing was a burden... putting on clothes was often not an option... showering was the stupidest suggestion... thinking ahead AN HOUR was often a task too difficult for me to perform.
I'm in no way trying to be poetic... or whatever it can be interpreted to be... I'm being sincere, truthful, accurate, when I say that I was seeing without really seeing, and hearing without really hearing. It was the ugliest, murkiest, most dangerous fog enveloping my life.

But this year... it's... nice.
I'm not hopeful-- that has since disappeared in my life... "hope."
I'm just at peace with... my place in life.
Last year was the moment I realized that... things suck, things suck for me.
This year has been... a moment to realize that I must keep moving. Staying home and not giving a fuck isn't very fun... it's kind of scary. I've come to terms with the fact that some people are meant to experience wild success, while some of us are here to... not. I also can't complain, because while I may not ever know what certain things feel like, I still have it better than so many people on the planet.
I've come to terms with the missing pieces in my life.
And the clouds are gone.

I saved people who don't give a shit about me the stress of having to ACT like we're cool.
I saved myself the frustration of watching certain people SEE that it's my birthday and not say shit.
I saved myself.

And then the most unexpected flowers showed up today.
Orchids.
And I cried.

People really undervalue simple things... like getting flowers.
When I first me MGH and JC, I was seven... and I was watching over four year old JC as he frolicked through a grassy field... few blossoming flowers in sight. The memory is somewhat hazy now... but it remains there: JC was picking the flowers, and handing them to me.
I hadn't received flowers since then.
I had never received flowers from an actual florist.
I thought back to the days in school... where I'd watch girls receive flowers when getting asked to a school dance, or for their birthday, or for graduation... and act like they weren't shit... and I'd sit back and think how... awesome that must feel like... as fucking lame as it sounds now. Standing there with your lovely bouquet of flowers... that had to feel nice.

Yeah... those flowers really fucked me up. But in a good way.
Happy birthday to me.

Leap on

I've had four people wish me a happy birthday today.
Though I seriously was NOT born on Leap Day, it still made me smile-- each time.

I'm at a completely different place than I was last year.
I feel like such a tool saying that line... but it's true. I think about last year-- how it felt, how it looked-- and it has nothing to do with how I feel today.
I'm not ecstatic, or even happy... but I definitely do not feel lost, or worse yet, suicidal.
I'm ok. Totally fine.
But not fine enough to remain on social media to hear the congratulations from people who don't give a shit about me... and especially not to see those who TRULY don't give a shit about me go out of their way to NOT wish me a happy birthday. It's all such a weird, paradoxical bunch of "logic," that I prefer not to have to deal with it at all.
Social media ruins everything, so I deleted it for now.

I don't want to think about anything.
I don't want to feel anything.
I don't want to deal.

I am just going to chill. I'm going to draw and chill... and paint.

Just another day, kiddo, let's move it along.
(I'm glad I was gifted an extra day to enjoy 30 years on this planet, before adding that extra "1" afterward)

One word

If I had to describe this decade I now leave behind with only one word, it would be this:
Worthless.

The end.

9 plus 20.

"It's my birthday today :) "
"NOBODY CARES!"

I haven't announced that since that day... I think I was turning 5, when my cunt of a baby-sitter/cousin said that to me.
There's a fine line between being sarcastic... and being a thoughtless, mean-spirited piece of shit. She was the latter.

I no longer make a big deal, but I do appreciate any form of acknowledgement... now, even the "Happy bday" and "hbd" messages.

I never imagined I'd make it to 29. Honestly. At any age, the furthest I thought ahead was 26. I thought about being 26 as a kid, mainly because that's when I calculated I'd be done with school (I don't really understand my math, but keep in mind my folks only made it to 6th grade).
Once the teens hit, I swore I wasn't going to make it past high school. Each year only brought forth heavier problems... more painful shit to handle as quietly as possible. In 9th grade I swore I was just going to kill myself and get it all over with.
But I held on.

In my early 20's I swore I was going to die of some health-related issue... but I still stand.
Mid twenties depression struck harder than ever. Then I swore I was just going to dissolve into non-existence.
But I'm still here.

20 years ago, as a nine year old, I remember that year as one of the most tumultuous of my life. A NINE year old.
Last night I went to bed remembering what life was like TWENTY years ago... and I damn near had a panic attack.
4th grade was horrible. Horrible, humiliating, painful, and traumatizing. I don't even remember what my 10th birthday was like. I just wanted to be dead.

I've outlived 9 by two decades.
Yet the scars are still there. When anyone presses that button, I crumble completely.

I don't even know what to expect, or what to ask for, now as a 29 year old-- I never expected to see this number.

I don't know whether to be excited or upset.

Not today, bitch!

So... I heard Justin Bieber had a shitty birthday...

Me? It was wonderful.
This entire weekend was strangely amazing... I even won a raffle today (I only purchased one ticket). Do you know how many times I've "won" a raffle in my life? ZERO... well, one starting today.

There were only two snags:
1. I rolled my ankle Friday afternoon while doing some jumping jacks. I was riding such a high from the amazing day I was having, I didn't feel the pain. The pain didn't intensify until Saturday afternoon, when I did my usual morning jog accompanied by some HIIT. I then woke up this morning with the stiffest freakin' left ankle imaginable. I've spent the rest of the day trying to rest the damn foot.

2. Drama with my goddaughter. It's stupid. It was the ONLY negative blip the entire weekend. She tried being a little shithead, by not wishing me a happy birthday (though she "liked" a post I was tagged in... but what the fuck does that mean? NOTHING. She also had lunch with my sister... and my sister mentioned it was my birthday... so....), I reacted, and things got awkward.

I KNOW I say I don't give a shit about people wishing me a happy birthday... but I guess it's more of a case-by-case basis:
*I will slit my wrists the birthday my mom or sister forget.
*My brother I'm more lax on, because he is busy as all fucking hell... and he really isn't very observant... so, I don't get upset when it's 9PM the night of my birthday and I haven't heard from Mr. Rafa.
*My dad? HA! I'm SHOCKED when he REMEMBERS. I sort of panic, actually. This year he was consistent in wishing me a happy birthday the day AFTER (mind you, I had a frozen custard date with both my parents at work, immediately after leaving the gym. Dad was clueless, enjoying the banana split I bought him, as expected. I happily savored my blueberry frozen custard cone as I smiled at Daddy with my "You're a silly man... you adorable caveman" expression plastered across my face).

Aside from that, I usually base other's wishes on the way THEY treat birthdays. If they're chill and not very festive, I'm the same way. If they make fucking noise about their birthday for MONTHS in advance, I figure "Hey, maybe that fucking day is very fucking important to him/her."
My goddaughter? Fucking kid harps about her fucking birthday almost every day of the year... seriously. And when people forget? She flips, of course. So... I proceed to assume that acknowledging people's birthday is of upmost importance to her-- if she doesn't wish you a happy birthday, it's her biggest way of flipping you the bird.

She's spoiled, was born with a silver spoon, and everyone caters to her fucking "needs."
I don't.
I set her ass straight when she's being petulant, disrespectful, arrogant, self-centered, inconsiderate, and all those negative "attributes" spoiled kids tend to have. I'll be blunt and immediately let her know when she needs to start acting right.
She does not like this... and I had been doing this quite mercilessly these last few weeks... because she has been a total weasel.
Her typical, high-schooler response was to ignore me.

On my birthday, she was active on FB all day, as well as IG and Twitter... MULTIPLE times tweeting a couple of minutes after I had.
This. Pissed. Me. Off. (I'm human! This shit got under my skin after a few hours)
It was the ONLY thing to piss me off. It was that goddamn pebble in my shoe all weekend.
So I gave my sister a job: Next time you see Goddaughter, please do me the favor of letting her know she's dead to me. You will make my life if you put it like that-- "dead to me."
Want to act like I'm invisible? Dude! Well, no problem there! I'm HELL OF invisible! I mastered that shit in KINDERGARTEN. I can disappear form your radar for life, if that's what you'd like. Problem is, the person who makes ME invisible, I register as "dead" in my head, so I'm not tempted to talk to them or contact them in any way. So, please think this one through, badass.

This afternoon D sends me a text telling me she told the goddaughter, word for word, what I said, and that "she almost cried."
Good. Maybe that'll knock some fucking sense into her head and teach her she can't be such a cunt to people.
About an hour later I get a text from Goddaughter:

Notice how grammar is on point? That's thanks to me.
You're welcome, America.

... yo, someone needs to tell this kid how invisibility works...

Can anyone else pick up on the ridiculous sense of entitlement this girl has? The audacity? It also seems like she does this a lot-- apologize.
Can't take the heat? Get the fuck out the kitchen.
Can't own up to your behavior when called out? Then don't play fucking little games, bro... especially with someone who has been handling it for over two decades.
You have to learn actions have consequences... and some people out there will have no problem rubbing your nose in your shit.
Man.

S-OHHHHH!
I DID have an incredible weekend. My birthday was beautifully pleasant. I laughed, I smiled, I danced, I ran, I got injured, I played with numerous animals, I WON A RAFFLE, I ate delicious food, I hugged people, I kissed people, I drove fast, I listened to loud music, I skyped people... dude! I fucking SMILED! I even booked a flight to the bay for St. Patrick's Day weekend. I was on cloud nine. Shit, JC even reverted to his old ways and woke me up with a phone call where he sang "Happy Birthday" to me. It was like old times...
Some day I'll make things PERFECT.
This year, the goal came very freakishly close.

26

Best way to describe my feelings about getting older (yeah, I'm recycling photos)?

I would have dropped that screaming baby in a heartbeat!

Nah, it's not so bad.
I WAS feeling like that last night... when the fucking ride through Vomitville was totally killing me (I was so messed up, I woke up to Mom holding her hand under my nose to make sure I was still breathing. Ain't that somethin').
I woke up feeling much better, more like this:

Somebody get me a knife!

I'm not sure how I feel about eating or any of that mess... but I guess I'll play it by ear.
Birthday cake? I... don't think so. The thought of sugar still makes me feel bad.
Birthday festivities? Eh... not sure yet, either.
I thought about getting the re-re-release of Bambi... but that would be old news, since that's what I did on my 21st, on the first re-release of the movie (is that a sign? They keep releasing that movie on, or very near, my birthday).

Anyway, I have amazing friends, and I appreciate everything they do for me. It made me forget how freaking miserable the last week has been (the spider bites, the rejection letter... shitting bricks thinking about getting the NYU rejection letter today--I didn't, but it was still stressful-- all that). I am truly touched (saying that makes me giggle. I'm so immature) and honored.

One thing I WILL bitch about (because that's how I do):
I hate, I repeat, HATE the message "Happy Bday" (in all its forms: Happy Bday, Happy BDay, happy bday, etc). Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the fact that you take the time to think of me for at least a second (honestly, I do. With all of my heart), but you best believe it made me roll my eyes the moment I read it (what's so difficult about adding "irth"?).

Ok, I'll now continue with my day.
(How disgusting... ManU just lost to Chelsea, of all teams, on my birthday. Bunch of bullshit)

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.

23

I didn't even like the idea of turning 1 (I love how the crying progresses from "Boo-hoo," to "FUCK YOU! GET ME OUT OF HERE! NOOOOOOOO! Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaami!" I tell you guys, I was anti-social since birth. Poor Godmom, I must have messed up her hearing real nice)... How the fuck am I supposed to feel great about turning 23?

I hate it.

Birthdays stopped being fun after 21... although my 21st was... pretty freakin' LAAAAAAAME.
23...
Man, pardon me... I'm off to cry in the corner of some room... this sucks (and I have a meanass headache to accompany this heartache.... gah).

Sapo Verde.

Unlike any normal birthday girl, I've always hated being sung to at birthday parties.

It's great that it took my family 22 years to get out of the habit (although Mom managed to partially sing her broken-English version to me as I sliced through the cake my little sister bought me... which by the way, depresses me when I mention it because I can never afford to buy Little Sister anything), I only had to bury my head between my hands in shame for so long.

There's been a lot of love shown my way, something good on this day that was so freaking... horrible.
Who the hell schedules an exam on my birthday? Shit.

As I wrote the date down on the Scantron, my brain asked:

Dude, did you ever think you were going to be doing this shit back in... 1997? Taking a Biochem exam the day of your twenty-second birthday? Wasn't I supposed to be doing something important by now?


Shit, back in March of 1997 I was busy reading The Giver and freaking out over the existence of infanticide (the color red is the first thing that pops into my mind when I remember that book), what did I care about 2007?

I was still recovering from the fact that Selena was no more; even looking forward to the Selena movie opening later that month. Biochemistry? C'mon now! Who cared about the Pentose Phosphate Pathway when the controversy of a Puerto Rican Jennifer Lopez portraying the Mexican-American Selena was in full swing?

-Not me! Why WAS a Puerto Rican playing a Mexican-American? Oh yeah, because they couldn't find another Mexican-American girl with that size badunkadunk in such short notice.

Oh Selena, why must you have gotten stabbed (or was it shot?) by that idiot on my birth month? It's never been the same since that fateful 1995 date. At least Spring hasn't turned intolerably hot just yet. I Still have Spring to cheer March up.

Anyway, that reminds me of being in first grade and realizing I wasn't the only person born on the First of March. Being tiny and ignorant (I still thought everyone was Catholic, and every Latino was Mexican until third grade when I befriended a Mormon Salvadorean), I thought only I, the uniquely talented AnoMALIE, was born on that day; as I imagined the twenty other six-year-olds were born on their special dates. I still remember the boy's name: Benny, and how I became irritated because I thought he was pulling my leg.

"But only I was born on March 1st, 1985! You shut the hell up, Benny, and own up to your own date!"

Poor Benny only stared at me with a nervous smile (nice way of dealing with a neurotic kid, I suppose). That's when the teacher had to pull me aside and explain to me that it was very possible of sharing my birth date with another person, and that each year, each day, tons of babies were born all over the world, and thus, share a birthday. Benny would just be my birthday-buddy, which is always fun.

"Well, couldn't my birthday-buddy be cooler than Benny? I mean, look at the kid! He has pasty, translucent skin, with black rings under his eyes... like some raccoon (I had a bad experience with a raccoon earlier that year while camping with my family up in Brian Head. But aside from that, I later figured out Benny was anemic... which... man... oh man). And he laughs ALL the time."

"Now, AnoMALIE, that's not nice. You must love and respect your peers! Benny's just extra special."
Man, did I need a couple of slaps to the face... what an annoying bitch I was.

So yes, that's the embarrassing manner in which I found out that no, I wasn't the only person born on "my" day.
The day of that epiphany still reemerges from my vault of memories from time to time, especially on this day, my good ol' birthday.