Bi-,

Today is my 33rd birthday. I just woke from a dream where we met again. You needed a plus one to an event. You were mean to me and told me not to look into it, that it would only be for a day. The rest of the dream unfolded into what good dreams are made of, a happy ending. Then I woke up.

I don’t have a purpose for writing this letter to you. I’ve been hurting for months now without a single care or passing thought from you. You’ve become background noise, really. And only certain triggers cause me to have panic attacks. Your cowardly retreat has left behind all the broken things for me to deal with, alone. I don’t know if my anger will ever completely fade.

But, today is my birthday. And today, I feel like I hate everything. Birthdays are like being covered in honey, trying to run in honey, trying to breathe in honey. It’s the one time of the year that people you don’t hear from all year come out in droves. In the words of Lana Del Rey, “they write that I’m happy, they know that I’m not, but at least I can say I’m not sad”. Meaning that…I’m a Scrooge. I’m tired and filled to the brim with grief. And all anyone can say is….Happy Birthday. How can I ever be happy about the day of my birth? It brought me into a world where all of the good things I do, and feel, mean nothing but hurt for me in return. Today is a day that I want to sit on the edge of a cliff on the tallest mountain I can find, cry out all of my pain. And maybe slip.

I hope you’re finding happiness. I mean that.

– Ness