Birthdays. I have come to hate them, well mine anyways. I remember when I was younger always having a fear of no one caring it was my birthday. I know it started when I was younger .... but as i have become an adult ... I dread the day .... because of my knowledge of it being purely disappointing. I have never felt anything genuine about my birthday. I hate celebrating it .... because in my mind there is nothing to celebrate. I have felt so beaten down for years that I realize that its just fake .... everyone is obligated to recognize you and nothing feels genuine. For the past ..... I don't even know how many years I have spent my birthday ....somewhere alone and hurt. Cory is all about the party ... because parties and friends make everything better... for him. I love my friends ..... I don't love parties. I don't like being focused on in any way. Someday I hope to feel genuinely loved .... and wanted. But I never have. Maybe this is where my diagnosis of depression really comes into play. I am very hard on myself ..... to the point where I cannot think of anything good. Sunday, this was our lesson in Relief Society ... specifically. We were asked to name a good quality about ourselves. I was mortified ..... I was blank. The only thing I could think of was Loyal. Ask me what I am good at ..... I will say nothing. The only thing that I know I try really hard at ..... and feel I have succeeded in any way .... is trying to raise my children to be good people. When I see them and how they act or treat others ..... It's what I am proud of. I don't know what it is about November. But as soon as November 1 hits ..... my stomach is constantly in knots. I try to gear up for another year of a birthday spent crying in the bathroom .... or driving around alone while Cory watches his movies or whatever he does.
