Today marks the day I was born. However, unlike most, it isn’t a day that I rejoice over because of several reasons. When a few friends asked, I told them I don’t like my birthday. It’s the truth unfortunately… One reason I do not celebrate this day is because of the number itself… the 16th. The number 16 is the age at which I had attempted suicide and had died briefly. Granted it was done by my own doing, it was never intended to further my depression despite what some may think. Another reason is because the very reason itself; it’s my birthday and they don’t really bring back fond memories. I had always tried to have a party and invite friends over, but it never worked out that way. No one would ever show up and had given me some excuse… this pattern continued till now even. Additionally, we never really celevrated my day of birth when I was younger and my parents had forgotten how old I was. Eventually (maybe around 11 or so), I just stop caring really about my birthday and had forgotten how old I was. Sad how one so young could forget how old he was. I didn’t ask or try to find out since I didn’t like opening up or talking much with family. In truth, I never really found out how old I was until I reach 18 since I needed to bring in my birth certificate to get a driver’s license.
My day of birth doesn’t seem to really hold an value to me since I stopped caring at a young age. It’s like any other day for me. Though I do try to enjoy myself if my friends try to plan something out. It’s a bit forced however and I feel bad because I’m not genuinely excited or looking forward to it. In any case, this day just reminds me how sometimes you can feel so insignificant in the world without anyone really noticing.