Today was my birthday.

I’ve hated my birthday since I was a little girl. For one, my parents don’t celebrate holidays very enthusiastically. Also, I have spent most of my life without friends due to the constant moves and my general lack of social skills. I spend all year being anxious about it, secretly hoping it goes amazingly, and then not being at all surprised when the entirety of the world forgets (although now, with Facebook, people can pretend like they remembered)

Only this year, I hoped a little bit more.

I have friends this year. Plans were made, excitement built…

And then it all fell through at the last minute. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It’s just what happened.

In addition, several people that I consider very close to me did, in fact, forget. Facebook dutifully reminded them, but it wasn’t the same.

No one was here.

So you want to know what I did today?

I sulked.

All day long.

In my room.

No matter what I did (a marathon of The Office and Dance Moms, watchingSomething Borrowed, catching up on Jenna Marbles’ video channel and ICanHasCheezburger, experimenting with makeup and hair techniques, reading my favorite blogs and magazines), I could not shake my mood. It annoyed me, but it didn’t leave.

Granted, I’ve been in a terrible mood lately. I’ve been waking up to intense pain every day, and while I’m trying to manage it, it still puts a damper on the start to my day. It’s also extremely hot, and the air conditioning in my room has actually made it worse.

I just wanted this to go right.

And it didn’t.

And I feel like I can’t tell anyone lest it seem like I’m blaming them or being a diva.

So all I’m going to do is log off of Facebook, play Amy Winehouse loudly (which will honestly just make me more depressed, but I digress), press myself against the cold concrete in my bathroom, and cry.

Sometimes I hate living with myself and my head, with the depression that’s always waiting to jump back into my mind and ruin things.

Sigh.