Lately, I’ve been finding myself in a seriously reflective mood, all because of my birthday. While New Years usually holds a fresh new start, I can help but treat my birthday as a sign of when everything changed last year. The beginning of the end. I’ve never been good with birthdays–there has always been tears, and drama, and ending up in my bedroom alone while other people blew out my candles. I can’t think of the last time I had a good birthday. Which is why I had found myself all excited about this year–a brand new start, a chance to celebrate, to start a new tradition of having a great birthday. But three days shy, and already I’m dreading the day.
And it’s silly, because I should be beyond excited.
The thing is, looking back over the last year, part of me feels like the only thing I accomplished at twenty-three was getting dumped. Which is silly, and so not true. But there is a part of me sad to be alone, to be single, on my birthday. Now this is usual when the voice of reason pops in (my best friends), reminding me that I’m not alone–in fact, I’m surrounding by many people who love me. That getting dumped was not all that I accomplished; I found myself this year, my true self. My personally compared to last year is completely night and day. I’m happy. I glow. I laugh. I joke. I’m not the shy girl who clung to her boyfriend’s side, watching as he lived. I live now. And that is why I should be celebrating come Friday. Plus, I did buy the sassiest dress just for the occasion.
If only I could let go of that slight disappointment–that feeling of loss I still haven’t fully recovered from.