Party monster

I’ve never been much of a party person if the subject of attention is myself. Also, I like understatements.

Today there is a party for me that my mother and my friend have planned for me. I’m going to get my hair done. These are all basically alien concepts to me. All the sentences that I just said, especially the ones having to do with “party for me” and “get my hair done,” are things I pretty much say maybe once a year, or once every few years even.


Last year on my birthday I went with my husband to see The Dark Knight in IMAX and later my mother-in-law made spaghetti. I was so overwhelmingly sad to be away from my friends and family that I cried by myself in the kitchen when we got home. Today they will all be here, talking and laughing and eating and standing around the backyard full of conversation they want to have with me. Faced with that kind of scrutiny, I kind of wish I was back there in the dark kitchen, crying with my head in the freezer.



I love parties, I love to blend and play and laugh and joke around with my friends. It’s just when the attention gets so sharply focused my way, I feel undeserving, ingrateful, I feel like there is a sword getting sharpened somewhere and it is all ten seconds from going to crap, and everyone will see the real me and what a godforsaken loser I am that they are wasting their time on. I’m still not accurately explaining why I’m unhappy when I should be so grateful and excited. Parties for me make me inarticulably sad. I hate that I feel seven right now. I hate that I can’t be cheerful. I hate that I want to hide. I am being a jerk right now.


I just don’t like the pressure of parties which are for me. They make me want to cry and hide. The more people who are watching me and wishing me well, the more I feel like I am sure to fail. I will come back to this later with something more upbeat to say. I’m sorry. This just bums me out.

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