Well, yesterday was my 23rd birthday (just so you know, I'm not fishing for "happy birthday's"), and I was definitely correct in not expecting much. But that's not what's bothering me. My pitiful crisis aside, I was at least hoping that for one day out of the endless parade of spirit-shattering, depressing events would cease, and perhaps I would know I was loved by my family and friends. Since money is very, very tight in our house, my mother only had enough money to buy a small cake and a pizza, but I was most grateful for it. She and my brother were the only ones who kept me from cutting profusely and possibly going ahead and committing suicide on my birthday. But I guess now I know that my suspicions about my friends were correct, perhaps. Not one of them remembered that it was my birthday, not even my best friend of the past thirteen years. I didn't even get a word from my 20-year old brother; I've always thought we were quite close. My mother thought I would be out all night with my friends, and I would get a break from sitting in my room and staring at the wall to kill time. No. Yesterday was just like every day before that for the last nine months, except this time there was cake. It's not like my best friend was too busy to call me. No, she called me several times over the course of the day, and she was crying so I had to calm her down. I kept hoping she'd look at the date on her phone and realize what day it was, then call me back. But she never did. I tried my very hardest not to get upset, telling myself not to be selfish, that she had her own problems to deal with and I should just swallow my disappointment. I told myself that I just needed to think about her feelings instead of mine, and just help her out. But she called me again toward the end of the evening, spilling her problems onto my lap and finally, I couldn't help but get upset. If nothing else, I didn't want any drama for my birthday. Well, that wish didn't come true, either. She caught on that something was wrong, even going as far as trying to guess what my problem was (and I really didn't want it to show that I was upset; she just told me that I was being too quiet and concluded for herself that something was wrong), and every guess she made was way out in left field. Just not even close to what was really the matter. She'd never forgotten my birthday before, not once in all the years we've known each other, so I didn't particularly feel the need to tell her. I just told her I was tired and didn't want to talk, and that I would call her back later. Of all my friends forgetting (and mind, by "friends" I mean people I've known since high school and some long before), her forgetting hurt me the most. May 7-- that's her birthday and I've never forgotten. I've even memorized her boyfriend's birthday. Maybe I'm expecting too much. Before anyone says anything, I know how I sound when I write this. "Poor me, no one remembered my birthday waa waa". Yeah, I'm well aware of that. But when every day, I have to force myself to wake up and search through my mind for one single reason to not kill myself and more often than not come up empty- handed, I think it perfectly acceptable to want just one single day in which my life doesn't feel completely useless and forgotten. I know I'm being selfish, here. I've scolded myself over and over for it and tried to push it down and forget it, but I'm just hurt. And I can't ignore that. Maybe I should just lock myself up in my room and keep to myself from now on. God, I sound worse and worse the more I type. But that's what I'm thinking. Okay, I'm going to stop writing this before I make myself sound any more self- centered, if that's possible. But that was my day.