On being 22

Today, right at this moment when I post this, I’ve just turned 22. It’s no big deal, no fancy hotel celebration with tons of friends that I barely interact with. No gifts or well wishes or cakes, except for this Prima Deli $6 Banana cake that I bought which I’m going to light it with a single candle later, and finish it myself. No birthday sex, now that’s sad. 

Birthday has always been a no fuss for me, I don’t hate it, but I don’t like it either. It’s just another normal day out of 365 days a year has. It’s just another day isn’t it?

At least that’s what I wished. 

I made a big no big deal of it. 

Always felt empty when people whom I wish wished me didn’t, people who are suppose to remember forgot. People who I’m suppose to spent it with absent. I should’ve gotten used to it, but I never did. 

22 years of being on this Earth, miseries more than happiness, even caused me Depression and Anxiety. I hate being alive, hated it more than I hate being out of bed when I’m not suppose to, hated it more than I hate it when people remains foolish. 

So what have I gained from being alive for 22 years? Lessons, lessons, and more lessons to be dealt with. How many more can I go through? Honestly, I hope none anymore. 

Some research done by the Switzerland has shown that you’re 14% more likely to die on your birthday. This is done with 2.5 million records from 1969-2008. Even though there may be some inaccuracy to the research done, it kind of bring some comfort to me, to look forward to my next birthday, to look forward to dying. “Lived a full 22 years in self made misery.” People are just holding on to the day itself, as if it’s some achievement. 

Maybe being alive till now should be an achievement too, God knows how I’m able to hold on until now. I don’t even know it. It puzzles me too. 

I’ve no birthday wish, just hope that everything ends as it is. Hmm, happy birthday to me I guess. 

At least I wished myself on time.