At this point, I just have to let myself be impressed that I went into my 21st birthday with the lowest expectations possible and still managed to be blown away by just how much shit when awry.
Happy birthday, enjoy taking someone else to the hospital for the mental crisis after they’re spent the day lashing out.
But it’s all fine and dandy, right? Thinking about the fact that I no longer have my mom to come dote over me when I‘ve had a long day, when it would be so nice for someone else to come make dinner or dry the dishes, or to sit next to me in the bath and wash my hair because it had been too long and my arms are tired. But I’m 21 now. So I’m the one who has to do that for me, and it’s fine, I can separate from myself who needs something to show up. This situation presents a challenge though. There isn’t anything I want, not that I really have the funds to treat myself if I did. I already practice really good self care to make myself feel cared for daily, there’s nothing out of the ordinary I can think of to do. I’ll go out and buy myself a cake and birthday card. I miss birthday cards.
I should get one for grandpa too.
I wish he could call me today. Death with object impermanence is weird like that.
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