It'll be my birthday in two days and I'm not sure if I'm excited or suspicious.
These are the memoirs of a sad soul.
This is a confession of a Top Hat.
More than once, I've met with disappointment before. In the past, my family doesn't seem... to care.
I can't go into full detail without sounding like a bitch, but... I always felt it was true.
They don't care.
I didn't even have a 15th birthday party.
You see... all my cousins and uncles and family friends have big beautiful birthday parties with cake and ice cream and love and ACTUALLY talking to you. They love to hug you. They love to be around family and friends that circle you, but don't interact with YOU. Ironic? Yes. Cruel and unusual? Certainly.
That's what real love is. Talking to you. Hugging you. Telling someone they matter.
What a big mistake I made to rely on them for happiness.
But my life... my life has to be like 'this'... it has to keep going up. During the time my 'fake' birthday was happening, I've often caught myself crying in bed because I wish so badly that my mom was here. I remember during my 18th birthday that she came to my school during 7th period with a BIG smile, a bouquet of flowers, and kisses to my head.
That's what I want.
It's all I ever wanted.
TO be loved.
To be remembered I was born in 1994.
My suspicion is that... everyone knows that I can be a greedy monster and they pay no homage or attention.
Now that I think of these absurd thoughts, a quick trip to Vegas is all I need to feel better. Maybe they'll notice I'll be gone. Maybe they'll notice that I can hurt, too. Just one night. One night of heavy drinking, dancing, and tears. Maybe meet a much older man and run off with him in his house he bought with blood money and cocaine.
I want something to comfort me.
Someone to help me.
Someone to make it go away.
Make it feel better.
If I am met with sadness once again... on my 21st birthday, that's exactly what I'll do. I need to go to Vegas. Alone. To help myself.
To meet a dangerous romantic stranger.
To self destruct.