My birthday

[dale.gribble]

Yesterday was my birthday. I wrote this before I went to bed. I don't know why, but I just feel like I need to put it out in public view--sort of like it's clogging my airways otherwise.

"Today I’m 27.


I spent the day entirely alone (not considering Tigger).
I did nothing meaningful.
I did nothing that brought me joy, much less joy for the sake of joy.
I didn’t talk to anyone.
No one talked to me.
I had no ice cream cake (a staple of my birthday for my entire life), let alone one with my name on it, a gift insisted upon by someone who truly loves me, as it happened last year. No one had drinks with me on my patio and told me how important I was to her and went out to dinner with me to celebrate my birthday, my life, not to mention the 90 mile drive involved on both ends. One day she disappeared, sent me an email telling me she no longer wanted to speak to me, and won’t even give me so much as a conversation to end things in a way that brings closure.
The most I had the energy to do for myself was to cut my hair, take a shower, and brush AND floss my teeth.
No one noticed that I didn’t make a sound in any way, shape, or metaphorical manner.
My mother sent me a $50 Amazon gift card. I realize this is something many people would never get, and I appreciate it, but I also am unaffected by receiving it. It reminds me that my parents don’t love me and that they use money as a way to compensate for that.
No one got me a gift that indicated they knew me well enough to get a gift of any sort. I don’t care about gifts per se, but I remember when gifts felt wonderful because they expressed how well someone knew you and cared enough about you to get to know what you like and don’t like. With the exception of last year (and, in a way, the year before), I don’t remember the last time that happened for me.

Everything about this birthday points to the fact that my life, as it is now, is meaningless.
Despite my best attempts to think about things rationally and critically, I just end up feeling hurt and sad and worthless. As I lay here practically falling asleep, I want to type the question, “Who is going to help me? I need help, can someone help me?” and express the desperation I have to latch onto someone for hope.
And then I realize that that is precisely what has ruined my life and made me so lonely.
And I also realize that there’s nothing wrong with wanting to connect with people and have meaningful relationships with them so that when you’re down it doesn’t feel hopeless.

I fantasize about going to inpatient and not coming out until I feel okay. I want to go to inpatient right now. I want the romanticized story of having a daily conversation with a psychologist that can compact exceptional expertise and experience into simple statements that move me to tears, make me turn my life around, get rid of all the anger, sadness, and anxiety that composes me and replace it with traits that aren’t such a heavy load.

But I know that would be a waste of resources.
And I’m too scared.

I have been going through documents I need to apply for grad school, and when going through letters of recommendation, I read things like “best student we’ve ever had in our graduate program,” and, “out of the 100+ students I have mentored, [he] is one of the top two students, and can be a tremendous force that revolutionizes our field” and similar accolades.
These accolades are about my skills as a clinical psychologist.

All the shit I write, all the stuff I say, all the things I do—if it were someone else doing all the exact same things and seeing me for treatment, it would be like completing a puzzle aimed towards kids. It would be easy to come up with a clear solution that is intuitive and effective because all of this makes sense to me like a puzzle, with mathematic precision and clarity.

I am in the same group as the people I’m skilled to treat. They take the incredibly difficult steps to heed my advice and change their lives. I know the exact things I would need to do to have a better life.

When it comes down to game time, though, the result is always a major loss, a huge step back, a kick-in-the-head drop down the climbing ladders.

My urge, as usual, is to close the lid, take my glasses off, and glide into the sleep I’m hardly fending off anymore. But I keep trying not to because I know the result will be waking up to the same old, and ending the day having failed even more."

Thanks for the space.
[Also, and I don't mean to be a dick by saying this, but please don't wish me a happy birthday; it won't help.]

[dale.gribble]

P.S., Tigger is my puppy's name, FYI.

[Vonnesky]

I just wanted you to know that I read this and really connected to it. If knowing you aren't the only one who feels this way helps even a smidgen, then know that there is at least one person in this world to whom your words found a home.