Birthday

They only comes once a year and so I aught to commemorate it in some way.   I have a child's mind.  I see things in very black and white ways.  I react to things with extremes of pleasure or of pain.  I have adored the prospect of my birthday and intensely as Christmas every year of my existence and the enthusiasm I had for them never waned with the passing of years. Now my birthday has started to mean less to me. 

I think it began when my sister's behaviour when drunk became a source of pain for everyone and then my stance on it alienated me slightly from the rest of my family.  I refuse to attend family events if she was there, as this meant that it risked seeing her drunk and the rest of us retreating into the deepest of shadows that ours mind's possessed.  Then, when she sobered, and lacked any kind of condition, I refused to attend at all.  I do not seek sympathy or blame that is just the way things are, now.

Celebrations become a source of concern even when the prospect of them are mentioned.  Because whether she is there or not we all feel the sorrow of her absence, the real her.



Time up.
Inspiration: The reality of my birthday, today.