Musings on Life from a Dead Girl

Birthday

I hate my birthday.
It's always just been a source of disappointment and resentment for me.
My family was good at making promises or worse alluding to them.
Then not fulfilling.
Not even close.
I honestly don't think I one good birthday memory.
I always just end up crying myself to sleep.
My birthday falls on a holiday weekend in my hometown.
The celebration is notoriously dangerous.
Crime goes way up.
My parents were always paranoid about something happening so they resolved to do nothing.
Well they always swore to have my birthday festivities the week after.
Every year faithfully since I can remember.
They never did anything.
It was always relegated to later on and forgotten about.
Sure there were a couple of years where my mom tried back when she used to care but now I don't know.
They still make promises even though I'd just like to live the day normally without any mention of my ill fated birth they always convince me that they have something planned.
Some huge surprise.
Then...
Nothing.
I am always disappointed.
Even now I sit here ashamed at 21 (hours from 22) that I let them do this to me again.
Why do I always believe that the results will be different?
Why do I think they can change?
I should have known better.
Nobody cares enough to get to work an hour early to decorate my desk or order the perfect card.
My phone is silent, no calls, no texts.
Just this.
Just me trying to fake happiness when no one even thought about me until the day of.
Happy birthday to me.
May 22 be less shitty than 21.