Birthdays

I hate my birthday. It’s pure bullshittery is what it is. People do things for me just because its my birthday. Like I give a damn. I want people to do things for me, not because I got a day older, and the day happened to land on some bullshit arbitrary marker that tells when the world came back to a spot it was a year earlier. If you didn’t give enough shits to do anything nice before, then why do it now? You probably don’t give a damn about me anyway, so don’t feel obligated to be nice just because its my birthday.

Or maybe I’m just unused to people caring about me as much as I care about them. So I don’t expect people to actually want to be nice. Once upon a time I believed in reciprocity, and then my friend google told me that most likely I’m just dirt to the people I value most. Probably true from what I can tell. Maybe I’m just an asshole who needs everyone to hate themselves more than I do so I can feel happy. I only get happy when the people around me fuck up so I feel better about myself. I don’t get happy for my friends, I can only think “Fuck you, what did you do to deserve this?”. Then I bitch about my problems expecting sympathy. I’m just a self centered asshole, it’s no wonder everything has been fucked up, life’s been one long slide. And now here I am, writing out a rant. Maybe I just want sympathy, or maybe I want something else, I don’t know. And who gives a damn anyways?

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