The past two days have been a long week.
I had a pleasant birthday. No surprises. Evie made me breakfast in bed, a tradition that started years ago after I discussed missing having the Easter breakfast we used to have with my parents. The kids at work made me several cards, and one family with whom I work closely made me cookies. Facebook provided some fifty well-wishes, a far cry from the last year at college when what counted as social media in those days didn't give warning and I didn't make much, if any, mention leading up to the date... and nearly no one knew.
It still bothers me. I understand that I set myself up for disappointment, but I really had more faith in my friends than I guess I should have. I've always wanted a surprise party, but I've never been able to just go out and state as much because if you ASK for one, it isn't one. I've stated as much in my physical journal, which exactly two people are permitted to read without asking me, and it seems that I'm stating it here now, which I expect no one reads. I wanted something that year, a few months before I was to graduate. I got to go out to a restaurant with Evie, which was all I hoped for this year, but back then, I hoped for more of a last hurrah that never was. The feeling was punctuated quite firmly two weeks later when we all threw a surprise party for one of the sophomores in the circle. I attended and hid my emotions, a skill I'd painfully spent the prior year mastering.
As I said, I know I set myself up for disappointment. But there's much more to it, really. I don't wish to go into details. I had reason to believe people would come through for me, and thinking back on the specifics hurts.
So I'm not one of those who hides his birthday on Facebook right before the advance email alerts go out. I'm genuinely pleased when people wish me a happy birthday, even if it's just those two words. I reply to each. I'm especially pleased when the well-wishing is personalized. I respond in suit. I adore the affection of my students in construction paper, marker, and glue. This year's birthday was wonderful and I wouldn't change a thing about it. I just wish that birthdays in general didn't remind me of the isolation I faced for much of the latter half of my college life when I battled what I didn't understand well enough at the time to be depression, and when honest pleas for help were rebuked as attention-seeking.
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I didn't mean for this entry to turn into that. This is all something for my physical journal, and the day will come that someone discovers this and I don't know what, but that's likely far off in the future. I'll deal with it when it comes. For now, this is therapeutic.
I wanted to post this link here for later reference. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/02/26/highly-sensitive-people-signs-habits_n_4810794.html As I commented to the post someone made of it on FB: "#8 is all me. One outcome of the recent introversion awareness trend is that people have lumped a lot of these elements under the introversion umbrella. You get a lot of "I experience this because I'm introverted, you wouldn't understand," to people who are highly empathic and sensitive, yet extroverted." The article starts poorly, but the numbered points are worth referencing.
Also, I wanted to note the passing of Harold Ramis. Ghostbusters was one of my favorite fantasy worlds growing up. I see the actors and characters as timeless, and it keeps hitting me in ways I never anticipated. I saw the man once at an outdoor community concert. I didn't shake his hand because he, like I, was there with his family to enjoy the performance. I don't regret not bothering him that day, but I do wish I could have told him how much I appreciated his work.
It still bothers me. I understand that I set myself up for disappointment, but I really had more faith in my friends than I guess I should have. I've always wanted a surprise party, but I've never been able to just go out and state as much because if you ASK for one, it isn't one. I've stated as much in my physical journal, which exactly two people are permitted to read without asking me, and it seems that I'm stating it here now, which I expect no one reads. I wanted something that year, a few months before I was to graduate. I got to go out to a restaurant with Evie, which was all I hoped for this year, but back then, I hoped for more of a last hurrah that never was. The feeling was punctuated quite firmly two weeks later when we all threw a surprise party for one of the sophomores in the circle. I attended and hid my emotions, a skill I'd painfully spent the prior year mastering.
As I said, I know I set myself up for disappointment. But there's much more to it, really. I don't wish to go into details. I had reason to believe people would come through for me, and thinking back on the specifics hurts.
So I'm not one of those who hides his birthday on Facebook right before the advance email alerts go out. I'm genuinely pleased when people wish me a happy birthday, even if it's just those two words. I reply to each. I'm especially pleased when the well-wishing is personalized. I respond in suit. I adore the affection of my students in construction paper, marker, and glue. This year's birthday was wonderful and I wouldn't change a thing about it. I just wish that birthdays in general didn't remind me of the isolation I faced for much of the latter half of my college life when I battled what I didn't understand well enough at the time to be depression, and when honest pleas for help were rebuked as attention-seeking.
---
I didn't mean for this entry to turn into that. This is all something for my physical journal, and the day will come that someone discovers this and I don't know what, but that's likely far off in the future. I'll deal with it when it comes. For now, this is therapeutic.
I wanted to post this link here for later reference. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/02/26/highly-sensitive-people-signs-habits_n_4810794.html As I commented to the post someone made of it on FB: "#8 is all me. One outcome of the recent introversion awareness trend is that people have lumped a lot of these elements under the introversion umbrella. You get a lot of "I experience this because I'm introverted, you wouldn't understand," to people who are highly empathic and sensitive, yet extroverted." The article starts poorly, but the numbered points are worth referencing.
Also, I wanted to note the passing of Harold Ramis. Ghostbusters was one of my favorite fantasy worlds growing up. I see the actors and characters as timeless, and it keeps hitting me in ways I never anticipated. I saw the man once at an outdoor community concert. I didn't shake his hand because he, like I, was there with his family to enjoy the performance. I don't regret not bothering him that day, but I do wish I could have told him how much I appreciated his work.