I didn’t know I could have so much anxiety and fighting myself for control as my birthday is on it’s way. I hate parties, it’s a new hate after having just a small dislike for them. My birthday is Christmas Day so you can imagine I’m just squeezed in on that day, I may be acknowledged or I may not. It took 21 birthdays to finally have s good birthday and a party about me. It was the first birthday where someone didn’t die or was dying and I didn’t get hurt in some way. I remember one birthday where I sat alone in my room watching Pirates of the Caribbean and I cried myself to sleep. It’s pretty pathetic actually but I was just a kid. The few memories I have of my childhood are not fond memories. My therapist explained because I was on survival mode for so long that dates and times got blurred or erased. It wasn’t my last birthday that made me hate parties it was something else. I published my first novel this year and it was of course a huge deal. That story saved my life when I hit bottom and I spent 6 years writing and rebuilding my life. So naturally when it was done I wanted to celebrate. Since my budget was tight and my family big I wanted to split it into two dinners to fit everyone. I was so excited and the happiest I had ever been. It all got thrown in my face when no one showed up. I fell apart into a depressive relapse with my issues of abandonment came crashing back. I don’t trust people and even skeptical of my remaining family since some of my other family couldn’t give a damn to show up. Knowing my birthday is coming I am grasping for as much control over what’s going to happen because I can’t fall apart again. I can’t handle getting sick again I just want to be stable again.