My Curse

I turned 22 years old today (I'm posting this at midnight on October 1st, so technically yesterday). In my entire life, I have had 18 good birthdays. I mean, it's still roughly 82%, which is a B. Passing. Not terrible.

However, it's a significant number because I don't generally have birthday parties. Not that I remember, at least. I know I had one for my first birthday and my fifth birthday, but the rest were just family...

Aside from the bad ones.


~*~

The first one was when I was turning 11, and I wanted a pirate-themed birthday party. I had just discovered Evite (which, if you're not familiar, is a service that will send event invitations via email), and I invited all six of my friends. Pirate costume was encouraged, enthusiasm required. The day came and I was dressed all-out in my eyepatch and fake sword.

I waited for my friends to arrive.

Ten minutes passed. One friend showed up, not in costume. I don't even think she brought a present.

An hour passed. She pet my cat. Nobody else came. We played badminton in the backyard for a while, and then I watched her play Nintendogs until her parents came to pick her up.


~*~

The second was shitty due to personal reasons which I will not divulge, but the third was just last year, my 21st birthday. 21 is a milestone, big and exciting; the last of your legal freedoms are granted to you and you can practically go anywhere you want. So, my stepmother Raechelle told me it was important that we celebrated raucously.

I responded by telling her sure, but I don't want to plan it, because a) I prefer to be surprised, and b) the last time I tried to plan something for myself, it was... well. See above.

So she, the planner that she is, got fire in her eyes as she planned two different birthday parties for me.

My birthday fell on a Sunday that year. I had an office job at the time, which required me to work Monday through Friday, and I also had to get there supremely early. Therefore, I couldn't get ridiculously off-the-shits drunk on my actual birthday, which Raechelle decided was perfect, because she could have a "family-friendly" night which my grandmother could attend while my grandfather could lecture me on the importance of a good whiskey, and I could go to work in the morning. The following Saturday was when we were really going to party, and a more selective (albeit still large) group of people were invited.

I was not kept in the loop with the planning process up until the day of, and I was perfectly okay with that.

Sunday's party was okay. Quite a few people came, some brought gifts (mostly alcohol) or a card, but it was really just my parents' friends. And I realized this fully, when my father, in his big booming voice, announced that I was about to be opening gifts, and... nobody watched. Same with the cake. People stopped to sing as a courtesy, but after the song was over, they just went back to whatever they were doing.

They weren't there for me, they were there because they were invited by my parents, who are party people. Any excuse for a party at their house, right?

I ended up going home at about 9:30, getting home at 11 since I lived in a different city at the time, going to sleep, and waking up in the morning completely refreshed.

Eventually Saturday came, and I was PUMPED. I had told Raechelle that I wanted the experience of clubbing, and she said she would provide. I wanted to get drunk. But most importantly, I wanted to share the experience with my friends.

I got to my parents' house, where Raechelle and I got ready together, and I asked her where we were going, to which she answered a lounge a few cities over, which was having an 80s & 90s dance night.

Sweet, sounds good to me, but I was surprised with the decision to have it on this side of the water. I was concerned about my friends, most of which were on the other side of the water, losing their way or not being able to make it.

I dared to ask how many people were coming.

Besides us, the answer was three.

3.

Out of an invite list of 20.

I internalized the information and let it sit in an attempt to convince myself that the friends that weren't coming weren't real friends anyway. I didn't cry.

Until I was four drinks in. Especially because I was on a mood stabilizer, and those tend to exacerbate the effects of alcohol. Also because I hadn't had a whole lot to eat. Also because I was drinking very very fast.

Halfway through my fifth drink, I ended up crying on the floor of the bathroom after throwing up, both in the toilet and the sink.

The entire near-hour-long drive home, one of the friends that came was cradling my head in the backseat as I told her how much I loved her, and thanked her for coming when nobody else wanted to, and apologized for being such a handful, all while my head was inside a bag.

That time, I did not wake up in the morning feeling completely refreshed. But it didn't matter, because it was a Sunday.

~*~

This brings us to the present day. Or at least, the present day of two months ago, leading up to today. My 22nd birthday.

I wanted to have brunch for my birthday. There was a cute little tea house in the town that I lived in now that I had moved home with my parents, and I had never been there but I wanted to have Sunday brunch for the special occasion of my birthday, I just... didn't know who to invite.

I didn't have any friends.

There was one I talked to almost daily, but she lived in New Jersey. There was one I loved dearly, but they lived in Chicago. All my other friends really just... weren't friends anymore.

Within a month, I got close with a couple of my coworkers (not forcefully of course, just through the natural flow of things), so I posed the idea to one of them after having told her my history of nobody coming to my birthday parties, dipping my toes in the water after having been scalded before. She said she would absolutely love to go.

I extended the hypothetical question to another one of my coworker friends, and she also said she would love to go.

On top of that, a childhood friend of mine (coincidentally, one of the ones that didn't show up to my 11th birthday party) had been wanting to get together and see me again after not having spoken since fifth grade.

So I made reservations.

I told these three people about it (as well as Raechelle, because at this point she's the one constant that never bails on me in these situations) that I made reservations, that they were invited, and that I was excited for it.

My coworkers were enthusiastic and said they would be there. They both even requested that weekend off.

The day (yesterday) rolled around and I was so psyched. I couldn't sleep so I woke up early and got dressed and did my makeup and hair, and I looked so incredibly cute.

On the way there, I had a pang of what was almost a despondent premonition. I told Raechelle my biggest fear, which was that this was going to be another one of those situations where nobody showed up.

She told me not to worry about it.

We got there pretty early and were seated at our reserved table. I ordered coffee, she got a mimosa.

We sat, and we talked.

Fifteen minutes after, nobody was there. Raechelle asked if I wanted her to call in some of her friends to take their places. Choking back hard tears, I said I was going to give them fifteen more minutes.

Those minutes passed, I had finished my coffee, and I told Raechelle I was going to go get food from the buffet. She offered again to call in reinforcements, and I conceded, but just one in particular.

The one in particular was great, and she even threw together a last-minute gift for me. The food was delicious. Afterward, I did a little light shopping with Raechelle and we had a good time.

But the entire time, the shadow of despair hung over my head, behind my eyes, and in my throat: Nobody came to your birthday party.

Again.

We arrived home, and I cried, hard. For about an hour and a half.

Well, at least that wasn't my actual birthday. I still had the opportunity to have a good day the next day, right?

I come downstairs this morning and my dad greets me by offering to take me out to lunch.

Awesome! Sounds great! It really was, too. I love my father, it was great food, and it was a great time. We look outside and it's a beautiful day, and he mentions that with the leaves changing colors it's a great time to get some good nature shots for my photography portfolio. I agree.

I drop him off at home, grab my camera and Discovery pass which allows me access to national parks, and go. But first I have a couple of things that I want to shop for.

I go, and I do. I don't really find them, but I find some other stuff that I buy even though I don't particularly need them, but they're cheap and they're fun and retail therapy is 100% real.

I realize I've been shopping for two and a half hours, and the sun is starting to set. If I want some good sunset pictures, I need to go to the park now.

I've never been to this park, so I get kind of lost getting there, and I'm trying to scream at my phone to get it to hear me because it's connected to the Bluetooth in my car, just so that it can take me to the damn park, but I do eventually get there.

I get out, go down the trail for a few minutes, and then I see a beautiful scene, the light filtering through the trees just so, illuminating the moss with the orange glow of dusk. I take out my camera, and...

No memory card inserted.

I left my fucking CF card at home.

In the middle of a quiet, serene nature trail, I curse loudly.

I storm off back to my car, pissed off because now, no matter what I do, I'm going to be too late getting back to have any sunlight left at all, so I'm just not going to be able to take pictures today, and I hauled my big-ass camera and my bulky-ass camera bag all the way out here for no reason. Not only that, but this is absolutely not the first time this has happened, and I forget my CF card at home all the time. So, I resolve to go to Staples to get another one.

After wrestling with my phone navigation again to get out of there, I do eventually make it to Staples. I find a new notebook. I find a new computer mouse. I sit in a couple of chairs. I find the memory section, and...

All they have is micro-SD cards.

Dammit.

Okay, so I check out, and go to Walmart. I look at the Halloween stuff. I... don't really want to be in here because it smells like piss and plastic as is generally the case with Walmart, so I head to the electronics section, and after checking the price on a Nintendo Switch, I look at the memory section.

Nothing.

Camera section? ...Micro-SD cards.

Nothing.

What the shit? Why does nobody sell CF cards? I know I can buy them online but I don't want to have to.

On my way home I stop at the grocery store to get a jug of water, and as I'm checking out, I throw in a Hershey bar. Because it's my birthday, dammit.

I go home. It's 5:45 pm. I'm hungry, I want to eat dinner.

I smell tater tots in the oven. That's good at least; potatoes in any form are welcome in my book.

Chicken burgers are set up on the counter to be built however one wishes, so I go to get the lettuce out of the fridge, and...

Ew. It's all mushy and red. Gross.

So just mustard then? I try to squeeze it out onto my burger but it does that bottle-fart thing, so I know we're out.

So... just... dijon mustard then... sigh.

Then Raechelle wishes me a happy birthday (she just got home from work and therefore has not seen me all day), and then I realize something.

"There's no cake," I say quietly.

Raechelle realizes this as well as I say it. "Oh, Kayleigh, I'm so sorry," is almost out of her mouth when I grab my keys and head out again.

Because I have to do everything myself, apparently.

I get the quarter sheet chocolate fudge cake (no writing, because I want it RIGHT NOW), edible chocolate number candles (two 2s), and two entire buckets of ice cream, because fuck you, and fuck everything, and fuck this entire day, this entire birthday, just fuck it.

I ate a cold chicken burger and tater tots with nothing but dijon mustard, followed it up with cake & ice cream, and then watched baby puppies on Animal Planet before retiring to my bedroom early.

~*~

I want to make it completely clear, it was not my parents' fault that this year's birthday was the way that it was. They, as well as my online friends, are a beacon of positivity in the shallow-yet-still-incredibly-hurtful emotional hardships I've dealt with this past couple of days. I love you guys.

I also know that -- god forbid -- things could be a lot worse.

I just don't know what lesson I'm supposed to be learning. Don't have friends? Don't have birthday parties?

Really, the one that comes out of everything, and the thing that seems to relate to a lot of my life, is to rely on nobody but yourself. Because you're the only person who's always going to show up to your birthday parties.