Confession- It is quite simple. The gun lies in my icy hands and I have pulled the trigger on myself… Therefore, logic will lead to the conclusion that I am the source of my own demise.
Don’t worry, this is not a cry for help, nor is this story as sad and morbid as it may seem… sad maybe, morbid not so much.
You see, I am approaching my *ahem* 26th birthday. I realize that is not so old, it is an eternity past 25 and a hair before 62, which makes me feel like I have left the top of one mountain and have only begun the decent into a valley which is home to a series of other mountains that I must, eventually, summit (per-usual I am chuck full of analogies today).
Birthdays are tricky for me. I adore celebrating other peoples birthdays, and I don’t really mind getting older, but I simply feel like the pressure of birthday-dom is all too much for me to bear. I get overwhelmed by the weight of being celebrated in some manner. Allow me to explain… I don’t exactly have the most squeaky birthday record. Let’s take a gander into the Birthday archives, shall we?
There was the year my birthday was forgotten (try being 12ish, sitting in your room on a purple inflatable chair and crying softly as you color your own birthday card… TO YOUR SELF!). Then there was the time my friend tried to sabotage my birthday by planning a party on the same night, HELLO her parents were out of town, and it was a CO-ED sleepover, what party do you think everyone went to!? My 21st birthday began with promise… then a 17 year old kid pegged my car and we ended up sitting in the freezing cold on a strangers porch for three hours waiting for the police to show up (p.s. they never did). The list continues, but to save what shreds of dignity my d.o.b. may still hold I will refrain from regaling you with the gruesome details. That being said there were many more birthdays that simply didn’t go as planned (or weren’t planned at all), thus leaving me with this immense feeling of dread that now lingers as that fateful day approaches (I also have a history of bad gifts, *see the year I received a car mirror*… which is weird, because ‘gifting’ is one of my love languages, I LOVE giving gifts that suit the gift-y. Then again, maybe I’m just hard to buy for…nah).
Now, let us back track for a moment. My current hypothesis is, that I have been carrying all of this baggage from years past into the years present; thus, in a sense, sabotaging any good that may indeed come because I am expecting everything to turn to shit before it can ever turn to gold.
Bang, the shot goes off, the body lays cold and I, am the smoking gun.
Never fear, there is still hope. As fate would have it, there is this great guy who is bound and determined to pry the pistol from my hands. Who knows, maybe this year will be different… maybe this year, it will turn out great (don’t worry I will keep you posted).