i celebrated my birthday until the age of 17 and then i started to hate my birthday just as much as i hate being alive, i stopped celebrating, i started hating being wished (i still hate that tho) i started feeling ashamed for being alive, for being born, because that one year that i spent quarantined with my family it just destroyed me completely, you know they are right when they say that a year can change a lot. At first i thought that this lockdown period is gonna be beneficial and good for people's mental health but it turned out to be the most devastating and mentally destroying period of my life cuz ugh how could i ever forget that i am deprived of a family, these are just a few people that i share a building with and this is not what you call a FAMILY. This is just a house made of bricks and stones and not a home built by love, compassion and empathy. All the emotional and physical abuse that i went through during that one year ate me alive, changed my perspective towards life. Now i hate it, i hate being alive, i hate breathing, and most of all i hate my birthday because that's the day when it all started. I hate the fact that i was ever born, that there's that one certain date when i came to life and started dying piece by piece everyday. These people around me make me feel like im a burden and yes i am, a burden. I know that, i think I'm on the verge of losing all hopes but i dont know what keeps me going idk if im strong or if im just used to it but what i know is that i want to be dead bc i love the idea of being gone, cuz after that nobody will make me feel like a burden, nobody will make me feel like ima disturbance and i won't spend my nights crying and fighting with my anxiety and trying to win the battle that i never won.
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