Another Year, Another Bad Birthday

Another bad birthday. Every year I get older, with it comes another ruined day that confirms why I don’t want to acknowledge this inevitable passing of time. Why even celebrate it? Because really, nobody cares. Especially least of all, my family.

I remain constantly disappointed. I wasn’t disappointed by the present I received, and I’m always down for a low-key hang. But don’t set me up expecting that we’re going out for my birthday if the reality is that there is no intention to do that.

Imagine my shock when I show up and my brother is unwashed in his pajamas sitting on the couch playing video games. Why am I only finding out now that he’s sick and doesn’t feel like going out? Okay. I guess it’s just going to be me and my mother. Cool cool cool. I look over at her, and nope. She’s in her house clothes and totally not dressed to go out. So much for plans for my birthday. Why do I bother?

So I spend entirely too many hours stewing in their hot-ass apartment (why do they hate air conditioning?) knowing that this bastard is a literal petri dish of sickness. For fucks sake. Thanks for the birthday present of sharing your virus with me. Much appreciated! Happy fucking birthday to me I guess.

They could have just told me, I’d have worn lounge clothes expecting to chill and hang out. But instead, I’m dressed in nice clothes expecting to go out, like I was told. It’s a whole different energy. I could have stayed home.

As the minutes passed, I grew angrier about how this visit turned out. And after I spent time thinking about it on the drive home, I know why.

It’s not the first time my mother has pulled this shit on me. The most triggering was a Thanksgiving four years ago when they fucked me over by not coming on time and ruined the holiday for me and the boys. Of course, this would be a repeat of that day. Why not? The last time my brother ruined it by being a tool. My mother went along with whatever he wanted because of reasons that are unclear to anyone, especially me.

I could theorize about the power imbalance in their household. About how she doesn’t want to rock the boat with my brother because despite his being a big momma’s boy, he’s still a terrorizing immature monster that she created. There’s probably something in there that needs to be unpacked. I don’t have time to dig into that because I am busy navigating the turbulent waters of my rocky relationship with my mother.

In the end, my mother sent me a text that going out was not in the budget, which if that is the case, tell me! Don’t text me and apologize about it after I have already left. Don’t disrespect me and then apologize. That’s emotional abuse.

She stressed in the days leading up to this one that she wanted to see me before my birthday, and that is what pissed me off more because her texts were a manipulation to get me to drive the 40 minutes to their house. She manipulated me into showing up and I hate giving her a chance, and then finding out I was being lied to. I cannot stand to be manipulated.

Historically my actual birthday usually sucks. So this year sucking the big one is not a shocker at all. I’m angry and annoyed sure. Surprised? Not at all. Disappointed? Absolutely. However, it seems that I can have good birthdays as long as they are any other fucking day of the year. For example, my coworkers threw me a surprise party with cupcakes and presents midweek. Yay!

A week before that, my Aunt and my cousin came into town unexpectedly (to me, who knows how long my mother and brother sat on that information, but that’s an issue for another blog post), and they took us all out to dinner, and celebrated my birthday early.

I am still reeling by how well that day went, and despite a great deal of wine, my mother was on good behavior, didn’t cause any scenes, without inappropriate outbursts, nor instigate any arguments! Imagine that.

That was a good birthday, even though it wasn’t actually on my birthday. So here I am stewing in my own juices, wishing I had not bothered to make the drive, wishing I had stayed home and stayed in bed. I don’t get down in the downy dumps about my birthday, or about getting older. But I regret these painful interactions with my family that remind me why I keep my distance. Unfortunately, they seem to come around inevitably like death and taxes.