I haven’t written since around my birthday really. It’s the first time in my whole life I didn’t celebrate it. Usually had parties. Had dinner last year. It was terrific. I really wanted something.

What made them so special was that I don’t celebrate myself in the sense that I throw my own party or something. It’s something like being celebrated, like people would come because they’d like to and it’s good company and good times. That’s how it’s always been during that time, how no matter what, I felt good because I had either family over or good friends around.

I’m not the type of person who’d just flat out say it’s my birthday or that it’s coming up unless it’s like a topic of conversation or something. To think of it, hardly anyone really knows me enough to even know things like that. Hardly anybody even talks to me about things. I’m not talking about big things in life, but hardly anyone really there.

It has to be more than just small talk, something real, something significant. I mean, nothing like a scripted out “hey, how are you doing” and same response and sorts. There has to be substance, something that shows you actually exist.

I don’t know how it is that I have no support system for things. My family hardly talks to me, and I hardly talk to them, but there are things I can’t talk to them with. And there’s hardly anybody I could go to if I have something on my mind. I don’t have people I can relate to much. I don’t have those kinds of people who’d make you feel good even if you don’t have to say a word. I know we all have our dark time when we feel that no one is there, but can anyone ever say that they had not found the release from it? Find the daylight?

Who am I to complain? I am me. I have my own sets of experiences from glories and struggles, pleasures and pains. No one has my life, my experiences, or anything of that matter. No one understands me and what I go through as well as I do. On one side, all of it is valid. On the other, it makes me feel incredibly alone.

Of the things I have control over, like myself, I have tried many things and had not stopped. Of the things I don’t control, that’s what needs to be happening for me. It’s so odd that a lot of things go wrong for me and things hurt so much, and no comfort zone, no relief make it so much worse. It is so pressing that it feels like I cannot breathe, and when I breathe, it hurts.

It is not the need to be felt sorry for. It is not the need to be understood at this point. My frustrations are the lack of the things I really need, and the abundance of the things I don’t need. This displacement is the imbalance of life at the end of the spectrum in which one cannot see anymore. I am not one to forgot, but I am one to move on to something other than what I currently have if it is there and it is attainable.

What is this void? What is this cold? What is this pain? What is this loneliness? Themes that I repeat here in one form or another, a struggle within the self and the self in relation to the world, I do not have to wonder how or why, but what happens next? Where do I go from here? What do I do? When?

I’ve lived and am living most of my worst fears.