Happy Birthday to ME

Today is my birthday. Same day every year. The age might change, but the day never does.

So why is it that when this day is on the horizon I always try to prepare myself for the inevitable let down that comes with my birthday. More often than not my birthday is forgotten.

I don’t need people to buy me things, stuff, crap. I don’t actually neeeeed anything. But a card, well wishes, or the acknowledgment that it is my birthday would be nice.

This year, the first person to wish me happy birthday on my birthday was my twin. The next were my mom’s friends, my newest friend, followed by my dad and brother, and finally my bestie. A few more snuck in once I posted a Snapchat about my homemade birthday cake.

You know who didn’t make the list prior to the day running out? My California friends, my Tennessee friends, my vet school friends, or my MOM.

I’m hurt. I’m saddened. I’m upset. I learned at a younger age to stop being excited for my birthday because almost always it was my twin’s birthday and people would forget it’s mine. Short of podcasting that it’s my birthday, people wouldn’t have remembered.

It hurts to think that out of sight, out of mind is a reality. I’m just a nobody. So I should be happy that someone at least remembered my birthday and accept that I am alone. Because that’s what this day reminds me of. That I’m alone, forgettable, and another year older.