Please, Be Kind.

A few months ago, I said something to someone on Facebook that really upset someone who I would call a friend.

Although what I said was not directed at this particular person, they were really bothered my words enough to message me about it and begin a discussion. In the middle of it all, she told me that she was disappointed in me. I began to apologize to her, feeling so personally responsible that I had caused this feeling, when she interrupted me and said, "My disappointment has nothing to do with you. I'm the one who is disappointed. It's my problem, not yours."

Ever since this moment, I've looked at disappointment differently.

Today is my 22nd birthday and I wish I could use a different word to describe my day other than disappointing, but the truth is, I'm so disappointed in so many people and things that I'm physically sick to my stomach. I've cried more in the past 23 hours than I have since Ethan first left and it seemed as if with each passing minute, my emotions just cut deeper.

Don't get me wrong, my mom did her very best to make my morning special and two very dear people went out of their way to get me a very sweet gift that I love tremendously. But as a whole, my day was so far from happy.

As each event unfolded that caused me to be disappointed, I went back to the words of my friend. It has nothing to do with you. I'm the one disappointed. It's my problem, not yours. And this only made things worse. I became furious. It's my birthday and it's my fault I'm disappointed? Is it really my job to try and convince myself that disappointment is just an emotion that I create based on what I interpret?

Hour after hour, I was reminded. Birthday cards written by random strangers, the absence of my husband, the "happy birthday" phone calls and texts that were either non-existant or extremely late, the unwillingness of others to come to me on my day, the empty apartment waiting for me, the take-out dinner for one, the insensitive comments.... reminder, reminder, and reminder after reminder of this: disappointment is my fault. 

Perhaps, in a way, I agree more than I think. While I proclaim to hate my birthday, the very cold hard truth of the matter is that I love the idea of my birthday. I love the idea of waking up and celebrating. Breakfast with my husband, random surprises throughout the day. Family dinners, friends. I don't need presents. And each year, I vocally talk about how I hate birthdays to prepare myself for the worst, and internally I set this expectation that I will be completely blown away. That I will wake up and this year will be different. Something will happen that will just spark.

And every year, I'm so completely devastated that it makes me lose all hope for just a little bit. It takes me a few days to regroup and get over the fact that it happened again. It really does take awhile to make myself forget about the birthday 10 years ago where no one came to my party. I relive that every fucking year. I swear I'll never get over that feeling. But the feeling is my fault. I had silent expectations; the disappointment was sure to follow.



Twenty-Two,
You're starting out atrociously just like the rest. But I still have faith in you. That glimmer of hope I had for today is still there, and it will stay with me until next year. You've got an entire year to restore me. You've got a year to build me up so that I don't break down again. You've got to carry me through, at least until spring so I can see my husband. You've got a lot of work to do in so many areas and I know you can do it. Besides, you've only got one shot at this year...what do you have to lose?
Just please, be kind.