I spent a long, miserable birthday in the office today. My mother called and invited me to lunch, likely because she knew no one there would be offering. With an office full of signs posted with the September birthdays, no one said a thing to me. One person did send an e-mail to me. I was ridiculously grateful for that one acknowledgment. The two birthdays last week - the only other two birthdays in the office this month - got balloons and streamers. I knew that wouldn't happen. I've been there six years this month. Longer than about 90 percent of the staff.
If you want to make friends, be one. Isn't that what they say? I'm kind and generous and loyal and loving and helpful. I don't know what more I can do. I've spent immeasurable amounts of time being there for other people whenever they've needed someone. I've listened. I've comforted. I've never been too busy to help. But no one is there for me.
All I could think about today was the fact that I don't matter to anyone outside my own immediate family. I have no one. I got more kind words for my birthday in my comments on this blog than I did in my real life. I got lots of good wishes on my Facebook wall from my imaginary friends. But in my real life, I have no friends, no relationship and no life. I am so tired of being miserable and alone. I have spent most of this day in tears - alone. I wake up in the morning just hoping that this will be the day that it ends, wishing that an explosive aneurysm will just take me out, just make this stop.