I used to get so excited as a child when it was time for my birthday, because I always thought that'd be the day that'd be entirely about me. Except, every other kid was on holiday, and I don't think it ever really was. No shade to my dead brother because I'd give my life to have him back, but growing up as the sibling of a special needs child, you're never really the priority.
And then I grew up. And I thought... now, now it'll be about me. And I think I've just realized it's not about it being about me. It's mattering? People remembering? But most never do.
My youngest brother? Forgot. Doesn't care. God knows. Can't get a response out of him no matter how hard I try.
People I'm very close to? Forgot.
That's not to say that I do not appreciate the people who DID remember. I think I appreciate them ten times over.
But there's a little girl inside of me who wants that acknowledgement from very specific people. To proof they care. And that's probably really wrong. And every year I think, "Just don't give a shit. Be appreciative of what you get. Focus on the good." And every year, when I go to bed, I am sad.
Because I will remember your birthday. At midnight. During your day. I will buy you presents. Send you cards. I will throw you a goddamn birthday party if I know you like that stuff.
And you forgot about me.
It sucks.
