I don’t understand why it’s seemingly impossible to have a joyous birthday?
As if in humbly asking I’ve sealed an unfortunate fate; an impasse.
And just when I thought nothing could surpass the grand disappointment and despondency that came with my last birthday “celebration”, in chimes the Universe with such a beaut. I truly believed I could not feel such despair, but alas the Universe has gone out of its way to prove such inklings are indeed false on my part.
Revelling in my pain and anguish.
A grand puppeteer of those around me; the ultimate trickster demon.
Why is it so difficult for others to acknowledge me?
One meager day out of 365.
For someone to make a sliver of genuine effort? And for more than ten people to avert their attention on Facebook and send me some well wishes? Do I ask for too much?
And then there’s those who’ve sent a mutual friend celebratory messages. Do they not realise that I can seen such activities on my end?
This isn’t a case of projection because my entire life has revolved around such circumstances; from as young as I can remember. Perpetually invisible. A nuance and one I can’t seem to shake.
One that becomes increasingly difficult with age.
Something which becomes more and more apparent as each day goes by, as I am forced by unknown forces to sit on the sidelines and simply observe life. Punishment perhaps? As if the participation in such experiences were too good for someone like me?
Or perhaps beneath me?