Birthday/thoughts:
I used to think I thrived off giving. Giving my whole love and attention to each person in my life. It’s my 22nd birthday, and though I don’t give much of a shit about my birthday, I always think of who will text me or ask to see me. Each year I fill my calendar with my friends and family’s birthdays, and as they appear, I send a text. It’s simple, but it shows I care. Now it’s my birthday, and those closest to me haven’t given a glance. Maybe I don’t thrive off giving. Perhaps I showed everyone what I needed because I hoped they’d return the favor. Perhaps I wanted love and attention, or just to feel noticed. Maybe I just wanted to feel like I mattered or was special to just one person I set up on a pedi stool. Birthdays are stupid, really, but this day has wholly shifted to taking mental notes of where I am in others’ lives. I’ve drained myself with countless happy birthday texts, how are yous, and pinned text conversations with a cute little emoji next to their name. Now I’m exhausted, and I’m left stranded in this open desert with nothing but realizations of my place in others’ hearts: nothing but regret for the energy wasted on people who never thought to reciprocate even the slightest hello. I don’t resent any one of these people for there actions. It’s my fault really. I created false fantasies of friendships, pouring my all into every person that gave me the smallest amount of validation as a human being. Now I’m left in this dry, empty desert, piecing back together the last 22 years of relationships and hoping to figure out what the fuck comes next.
(via stolen-ferrari)
