It's my birthday and I'll cry if I want to.
Yesterday was my birthday. I turned 21.
Sometimes, I have these highly depressing moments in life- and these occasions usually land on major holidays, anniversaries, and birthdays. I hate birthdays the most- and I'm considering never celebrating mine ever again- that is, I don't even want to acknowledge it in the future.
It's not that I'm afraid of growing older...I'm afraid of being forgotten, and there is no better way to feel forgotten than to spend your birthday without anyone around you remembering. I should mention that I got a lovely e-card from my parents and grandparents, a sweet email from my youngest sister, and a few comments on my myspace account from people who got a reminder from myspace.
*sigh* The whole thing was a mess, from start to finish. Female Roommate put one of her cats down on Friday, and had her grandfather's funeral on Saturday, so Male Roommate and I decided that attempting to celebrate my birthday this weekend would be a complete failure, and the introduction of any other event might send Female Roommate over the edge.
So, I spent the morning quietly packing the last of my things and cleaning. W00t. Boyfriend was supposed to show up at 2 to pick me and half of my crap up (because he didn't want to make two trips in one day, let alone two trips in one weekend because that's just too much fucking work for him- nevermind the fact that I turned over 5 days of my life to him so that I could pack and move his shit). Naturally, Boyfriend postponed the trip because he stayed up too late, slept too late, and takes too long to groom. So, he shows up at 4:30 and tells me that something came up at work, so he will have to spend the evening working.
At that point, I was simultaneously livid and guilty. Livid- because I didn't want to spend the evening quietly reading in the corner while he worked, and guilty because I felt so selfish for being livid.
To me, this meant that we had to load my crap in the car right away to get back to Suburb at the appropriate time, but Boyfriend said that he wanted to grab some lunch.
We go out to his car, and sitting in the passenger seat is a piece of paper that reads something to the effect of "I didn't know what to get you, so I'm going to offer a clothes shopping trip." Now, anyone who really knows me will be able to say without doubt that clothes shopping is one of my least favorite activities- right up there with having my toe nails removed with pliers without anesthesia. I hate my body enough that buying clothing is something I do alone when I've gathered enough self esteem that I could potentially like myself. Then I go into a small cubicle and look at myself in various stages of undress and in unflattering items in a full length mirror until I have sufficiently killed whatever self esteem I may have accidentally grown since the last shopping trip. Needless to say, this is an activity that I not only loathe, but I wish to endure when alone. I don't need my skinny boyfriend there, and I certainly don't need to do this instead of an actual birthday celebration. I expressed mild happiness at the thoughtless "gift" and we drove off for lunch.
Without asking what I thought about it, Boyfriend chose Shitty Bavarian Restaurant because he loves the schnitzel there- and I'm sure I've mentioned this before, but I don't care for German food, especially the German food that comes out of the Shitty Bavarian Restaurant kitchen. While casually consuming lunch/dinner, he noted that he wanted to look at kitchen tables at the furniture store.
I should note that Boyfriend does not plan to purchase a table from this store because they do not deliver to Suburb, so we were shopping for a table that he would never purchase. Lovely, my two least favorite activities combined into one: shopping and completely wasting time.
So, we run back to the apartment, I load about half of my crap into his car, and we drive to Suburb while he takes calls from work. I unload the car and re-assemble my dresser with some of his help in between the times that he runs to the computer to work.
At about 11, I am exhausted, and settle down onto the couch. He comes out, sits on the couch, and turns on the television.
3 minutes to midnight, I go to the kitchen and toast myself with a glass of water to mark the end of my birthday- while I cried and he watched shitty footage of DJ Shadow and some other DJ. I finally wiped away the tears and all evidence that I had cried, and went to sleep on his twin bed.
Around 2 am, he hovered over me and asked "what's up?" to wake me- I guess that was the nice way of saying "get the fuck out of my bed and go sleep on the couch." I didn't respond, simply grabbing a blanket and going back to the couch.
The next morning (well, afternoon for him), while watching more stupid fucking television he asked if I enjoyed my birthday celebration. I think that is when it occurred to me that Boyfriend's complete lack of empathy struck again. He enjoyed the day, how could I possibly not love it, right?
I told him that I didn't plan anything for the day for the sole purpose of not being disappointed, and that, m'dear, is true. I purposefully made no plans because I know that the more I plan, the more upset I'll be when the day turns out the way it always does- with tears and a lonely night. I just didn't mention the tears and lonely night bit because I didn't want my selfish and childish expectations to make him feel bad or create a fight. That, and I know that I would be embarrassed to admit any of these feelings to anyone who actually knows me- which is why this ranting is happening on this blog, and not over the phone or on my other less-anonymous blog.
We had to go straight to the train so I could get back to the apartment at a reasonable hour, and really, I was happy to leave so early in the day. One more moment being around him while I wobbled the line between sanity and insanity and the line between tears and composure...Well, I doubt I could have handled it.
When I got off the train, Male Roommate and I talked over the whole weekend (including his hot date on Saturday) and he told me that he had sent a secret text message to Boyfriend reminding Boyfriend of my birthday.
At that point, I pretty much lost it. The one bit of solace I had was that Boyfriend had remembered my birthday, but it turns out that he had not remembered my birthday, and in fact, probably resorted to the last minute no-card-no-gift-promise-of-personal-hell idea last minute.
Frankly, I would have settled for going to the neighborhood bar and getting a $3 beer- anything but assembling my dresser, unpacking, and falling asleep alone after a day of doing all of the things I hate the most. Really, I should be used to this crap by now...But it still bothers me, maybe because it was my 21st birthday, and those are supposed to be special...I mean, my sweet sixteen was botched at best, but at least my parents remembered my birthday, bought me an actual gift, and celebrated the event with activities for which I at least harbor neutral feelings.
For his birthday, I went through 4 or 5 stores looking for the exact sweaters that he wanted and then wrote a long and heartfelt message in a card.
All I wanted was a beer* and I didn't even get that. I didn't want a cake or balloons or anything. I wanted quality time, relaxation, and a celebration of the fact that I can drink legally.
I was thinking that Ex-Boyfriend J was the epitome of asshole- going so far as to cheat on me in my own car while standing me up for a date- but even he was thoughtful enough to purchase tickets to my see my favorite band *and* get a little thing that would allow me to listen to my mp3 player in my car "because [he knew] how much [I] hate to be separated from [my] music."
I can't help but think that I am preparing to waste part of what's left of my youth on a man who makes an asshole look like a romantic and thoughtful lover.
How retarded am I?
Needless to say, there will be no compliments given today. In fact, I will not give any compliments until I stop being mad about this. I know the point of giving a compliment is to reflect on why I like him and keep me from dwelling on why I should leave him, but I am so angry, hurt and upset that I can't think of any compliments, nor do I think that he deserves that kind of lavishing.
*Actually, I mentioned to a friend that all I wanted was a glass of wine and a backrub, and I still got neither, although that friend did offer to fly in from Vermont to deliver the gift.
Sometimes, I have these highly depressing moments in life- and these occasions usually land on major holidays, anniversaries, and birthdays. I hate birthdays the most- and I'm considering never celebrating mine ever again- that is, I don't even want to acknowledge it in the future.
It's not that I'm afraid of growing older...I'm afraid of being forgotten, and there is no better way to feel forgotten than to spend your birthday without anyone around you remembering. I should mention that I got a lovely e-card from my parents and grandparents, a sweet email from my youngest sister, and a few comments on my myspace account from people who got a reminder from myspace.
*sigh* The whole thing was a mess, from start to finish. Female Roommate put one of her cats down on Friday, and had her grandfather's funeral on Saturday, so Male Roommate and I decided that attempting to celebrate my birthday this weekend would be a complete failure, and the introduction of any other event might send Female Roommate over the edge.
So, I spent the morning quietly packing the last of my things and cleaning. W00t. Boyfriend was supposed to show up at 2 to pick me and half of my crap up (because he didn't want to make two trips in one day, let alone two trips in one weekend because that's just too much fucking work for him- nevermind the fact that I turned over 5 days of my life to him so that I could pack and move his shit). Naturally, Boyfriend postponed the trip because he stayed up too late, slept too late, and takes too long to groom. So, he shows up at 4:30 and tells me that something came up at work, so he will have to spend the evening working.
At that point, I was simultaneously livid and guilty. Livid- because I didn't want to spend the evening quietly reading in the corner while he worked, and guilty because I felt so selfish for being livid.
To me, this meant that we had to load my crap in the car right away to get back to Suburb at the appropriate time, but Boyfriend said that he wanted to grab some lunch.
We go out to his car, and sitting in the passenger seat is a piece of paper that reads something to the effect of "I didn't know what to get you, so I'm going to offer a clothes shopping trip." Now, anyone who really knows me will be able to say without doubt that clothes shopping is one of my least favorite activities- right up there with having my toe nails removed with pliers without anesthesia. I hate my body enough that buying clothing is something I do alone when I've gathered enough self esteem that I could potentially like myself. Then I go into a small cubicle and look at myself in various stages of undress and in unflattering items in a full length mirror until I have sufficiently killed whatever self esteem I may have accidentally grown since the last shopping trip. Needless to say, this is an activity that I not only loathe, but I wish to endure when alone. I don't need my skinny boyfriend there, and I certainly don't need to do this instead of an actual birthday celebration. I expressed mild happiness at the thoughtless "gift" and we drove off for lunch.
Without asking what I thought about it, Boyfriend chose Shitty Bavarian Restaurant because he loves the schnitzel there- and I'm sure I've mentioned this before, but I don't care for German food, especially the German food that comes out of the Shitty Bavarian Restaurant kitchen. While casually consuming lunch/dinner, he noted that he wanted to look at kitchen tables at the furniture store.
I should note that Boyfriend does not plan to purchase a table from this store because they do not deliver to Suburb, so we were shopping for a table that he would never purchase. Lovely, my two least favorite activities combined into one: shopping and completely wasting time.
So, we run back to the apartment, I load about half of my crap into his car, and we drive to Suburb while he takes calls from work. I unload the car and re-assemble my dresser with some of his help in between the times that he runs to the computer to work.
At about 11, I am exhausted, and settle down onto the couch. He comes out, sits on the couch, and turns on the television.
3 minutes to midnight, I go to the kitchen and toast myself with a glass of water to mark the end of my birthday- while I cried and he watched shitty footage of DJ Shadow and some other DJ. I finally wiped away the tears and all evidence that I had cried, and went to sleep on his twin bed.
Around 2 am, he hovered over me and asked "what's up?" to wake me- I guess that was the nice way of saying "get the fuck out of my bed and go sleep on the couch." I didn't respond, simply grabbing a blanket and going back to the couch.
The next morning (well, afternoon for him), while watching more stupid fucking television he asked if I enjoyed my birthday celebration. I think that is when it occurred to me that Boyfriend's complete lack of empathy struck again. He enjoyed the day, how could I possibly not love it, right?
I told him that I didn't plan anything for the day for the sole purpose of not being disappointed, and that, m'dear, is true. I purposefully made no plans because I know that the more I plan, the more upset I'll be when the day turns out the way it always does- with tears and a lonely night. I just didn't mention the tears and lonely night bit because I didn't want my selfish and childish expectations to make him feel bad or create a fight. That, and I know that I would be embarrassed to admit any of these feelings to anyone who actually knows me- which is why this ranting is happening on this blog, and not over the phone or on my other less-anonymous blog.
We had to go straight to the train so I could get back to the apartment at a reasonable hour, and really, I was happy to leave so early in the day. One more moment being around him while I wobbled the line between sanity and insanity and the line between tears and composure...Well, I doubt I could have handled it.
When I got off the train, Male Roommate and I talked over the whole weekend (including his hot date on Saturday) and he told me that he had sent a secret text message to Boyfriend reminding Boyfriend of my birthday.
At that point, I pretty much lost it. The one bit of solace I had was that Boyfriend had remembered my birthday, but it turns out that he had not remembered my birthday, and in fact, probably resorted to the last minute no-card-no-gift-promise-of-personal-hell idea last minute.
Frankly, I would have settled for going to the neighborhood bar and getting a $3 beer- anything but assembling my dresser, unpacking, and falling asleep alone after a day of doing all of the things I hate the most. Really, I should be used to this crap by now...But it still bothers me, maybe because it was my 21st birthday, and those are supposed to be special...I mean, my sweet sixteen was botched at best, but at least my parents remembered my birthday, bought me an actual gift, and celebrated the event with activities for which I at least harbor neutral feelings.
For his birthday, I went through 4 or 5 stores looking for the exact sweaters that he wanted and then wrote a long and heartfelt message in a card.
All I wanted was a beer* and I didn't even get that. I didn't want a cake or balloons or anything. I wanted quality time, relaxation, and a celebration of the fact that I can drink legally.
I was thinking that Ex-Boyfriend J was the epitome of asshole- going so far as to cheat on me in my own car while standing me up for a date- but even he was thoughtful enough to purchase tickets to my see my favorite band *and* get a little thing that would allow me to listen to my mp3 player in my car "because [he knew] how much [I] hate to be separated from [my] music."
I can't help but think that I am preparing to waste part of what's left of my youth on a man who makes an asshole look like a romantic and thoughtful lover.
How retarded am I?
Needless to say, there will be no compliments given today. In fact, I will not give any compliments until I stop being mad about this. I know the point of giving a compliment is to reflect on why I like him and keep me from dwelling on why I should leave him, but I am so angry, hurt and upset that I can't think of any compliments, nor do I think that he deserves that kind of lavishing.
*Actually, I mentioned to a friend that all I wanted was a glass of wine and a backrub, and I still got neither, although that friend did offer to fly in from Vermont to deliver the gift.
posted by iconoclastical at 8:43 PM
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