My Birthday

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Today, November 2nd, is my birthday.

Normally, I don’t tell anyone about my birthday from the beginning of October until it’s over.

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I don’t like my birthday, I never have. I’m not sure exactly why. I don’t remember any kind of violence or drama happening on or near my birthday.

The only thing I can think of to cause such disdain is my Mom telling me I was a mistake at conception and I’ve been a mistake ever since.

Everyone forgot my fifteenth birthday. It was the best birthday I can remember.

I told you all of this so you could better understand where I’m coming from when I tell you this next part.

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On Monday, I told everyone who would listen that my birthday was on Friday. I continued to tell people all week that my birthday was coming.

For the life of me, I can’t figure out what I was thinking. I mean, I’ve spent my whole life trying to avoid anyone finding out about my birthday.

It’s like I was hoping they would never figure out that I was born. This doesn’t make sense to me, so I don’t really know why I’m writing about it.
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As is the way with people, my new boyfriend has made promises that I’m not sure he will keep.

We have been seeing each other for two months and, two weeks ago, he said he loved me.

I’m not sure that was a smart thing to do. We have yet to have a serious discussion.

We have talked at serious things, but we have not really talked. We have not tried to sort anything out, come to some kind of middle ground, or work out differences in any way.

When we have a disagreement, we separate until we can pretend it didn’t happen.

I don’t feel like this is a healthy way to be in a relationship.
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I think a couple should be able to discuss things that matter, come to an agreement on things they disagree on, compromise, agree to disagree, and work out problems.

I don’t believe your significant other should tell people about mistakes you make. I think this is done to humiliate you. If you’re with someone who humiliates you, after you’ve told them it bothers you, you are choosing to be disrespected.

I’m having financial trouble. That’s no secret. For the last six months, I was robbed before I could pay all my bills. This, on concert with people using me for a supply bank, have left me in serious trouble.

The people who visit and socialize with us tell him to help me with my finances. He tells them he would help if I asked.

The first thing I thought was, “if you cared, you would ask if I needed help. When I left a hint that I needed help, you said it was none of your business. Why would I humiliate myself like that again?”

My second thought was, “I don’t want his help. I don’t want to feel indebted to him or have him use it against me somehow.”

So, I stayed silent. Unsure of how to respond. We’ve never discussed any of this stuff.

We’ve never talked about our faith or lack of faith.

We’ve never talked about any possibility of a future together.

We’ve never made plans more than a day ahead of time.

We’ve never discussed philosophy.

We’ve never talked about our individual future plans.

We’ve never talked about the universe or politics.

We’ve never talked.

We chat. We talk at different subjects. We drop comments. We make public jokes about it. We use sarcasm and humor to hint and inform.

Anything to avoid a conversation.

We’ve never really talked.

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I have managed to avoid being robbed this month and my rent, utilities, phone, and internet were paid. I didn’t have enough to pay on my loan or purchase necessary house items.

He said he would help me. He gave me money, but then he asked me to spend it on other things and he would give it back to me. Every time he gives me money, he makes sure I spend it before I can put it on the bills.

On the other hand, how do I feel about him?

I know that when he’s not near, I feel a little lost. You know how you feel when you’re looking for something and you know you just had it? That’s how I feel when he leaves. If he’s gone for more than two hours, I feel like someone robbed me. As if someone took something that belongs to me.

Of course, I don’t own him. I wouldn’t want to.

I am grateful for our time apart. I enjoy my alone time and my time with other people. I enjoy the feeling of seeing him again.

I wish he would come and hug and kiss me right away, but he doesn’t. I wait as patiently as I can for him to do it. When everyone is gone and all his stuff is done, then he will hug and kiss me.

Quite often there are others visiting when he comes home. Oh, yes, he stays with me.

He doesn’t live with me. He doesn’t have a ride to work from his house in the country. He doesn’t keep clothes at my house and whatever items he gathers at my house are removed within a week. I just don’t have the room. I am removing my own clutter in my apartment, so I don’t want someone else to fill it back up.

I asked him to be my boy toy, but he acted like a boyfriend. Once everyone accepted us as a couple, then he started acting like a boy toy.

These are the kinds of things that cause me to hate people, especially men.

Until next time…

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