A Birthday Rant

When I was a little girl. I got a ball for my birthday, it was before I knew there were other things to want and get. So, I was happy. It is the only photo of me being happy opening a gift on record. Once I knew what there was to want and I developed wants, I opened things and made a frowny face. No one could satisfy my wants because they would require you to be more open, more affectionate, more loving, more generous, more funny, more of a trouble-maker, less shut down and actually someone else entirely. I think of birthdays as a day where you get let down, the disappointing truth is, I just want more than the known world has to offer. Growing up we were poor enough that my mother made our dolls and made us clothes sometimes. I think that i never knew we were poor because my dad was buying oriental rugs for $10,000, but when I think about it now, I go, it's kind of like all our money went to that and we really didn't have much for regular living stuff. Not that i really ever went hungry, but we were supposed to ask for food and i was always too shy to ask. I went hungry a lot. I told myself not to be hungry. That's kind of what I feel like today. The list of disappointments, choices in men who couldn't love me but were happy to pretend to but didn't see me for what I am, but never actually going for boys/men I actually liked. I let myself get chosen because I was old-fashioned. But, it was like only the scavengers could find me, never someone with their shit together. So, it was a series of men sort of like my father, who were good on the inside but was too wrapped up in trying to make a future for us that he didn't spend that much time with me---nor unless it was a holiday were they generous. My father is Scottish and very focused on money and how much everything costs, so we had a few games and the reasons we were given for not getting real barbies was because of the cost. There are a few memories of my father I'll talk about now, because on my birthday I think of many things that are great losses to me. My father is still alive, but I count him among things I have lost that I can't really get back and when I think of it, I don't know if I ever really had him at all. I like to think so. I was definitely his favorite. I knew that much, but he was scared of the world in a way that I was not. He was interested in cults and meditation and strange ways of eating. But, when I was a little girl he sang with me and taught me to sing. He drove me in our giant car---(a Cadillac? I can't remember only that it was brown) to visit a goat he kept on a farm out in Sylmar. We lived in Franklin Hills, so that was a very long way to drive. We sang songs and talked about the universe. I loved the stars and he told me what he knew of them. He told me "Johnny Boy" stories of his struggles and near misses with death when he was just a kid trying to help support his poor family in Maryland. My father went to work when he was fourteen. Like him I went to work when i was fifteen, but worked for every penny I ever had. Allowance? I don't remember it. I think we washed cars or mowed the lawn for money. I am tired. i have worked that whole time. Nothing was ever easy for me. I always struggled. I was told I couldn't go to college because my father got sick and was in the hospital and my mom was afraid of making ends meet, so at 20 I dropped out of UCLA. My dad was always there, he just had some problems that equaled yelling and made me scared to talk to him. When I was 12, it was the last time I gave him a massage and he tried to tell me he was special, but I felt that even though he thought I was special, to keep telling me would make me never try for anything. I kind of told him to lay off and he did---only he laid off forever. I think my dad loves me very much, but might be a little scared of me. I can't explain to him entirely why I am still scared all these years later, but there was a lot of pain and absence and deprivation. I felt unloved. All my other friends had necklaces or some kind of jewelry, but we didn't have jewelry. We didn't spend money on things like that. I always wanted some shiny jewelry from Tiffany's to make me feel like I was loved. It never ever happened. But, not that they aren't generous now, not that they don't give me money during the holidays, there is just a period of years that happened where they hated me. I never really got over it. One time my father and I went jogging around Marshall High and I was walking on a handrail on the top of some stairs and I fell backwards. I think I was 5 or 6. My dad grabbed me and saved me. I remember knowing he had saved my life that day, but I miss the things we used to talk about. I miss the before the psychotic break he had. I miss him just being fun and happy. I miss him. Here's the time to say it. Maybe it will give you insight on the reason I am like I am. But, my father has never called me on the phone. NOT EVER. I'm am broken because of that in a way I don't expect you to understand. People always try to say---oh me too---my dad never calls. But, my dad has NEVER called. Nor has he asked me anywhere. I have to ask him. I guess there is a pattern that was set up a long time ago about the little bit men can give me. The withholding of affection. The me being expected to know how a person feels. But, I never do know. That's the thing. That's why every birthday, I know I've made good on a life that could be crime filled. I've been the better brighter smarter star. But, when there isn't love from family, what really do you have to work with? So, to all of you who are sick of me dating men who don't live anywhere and don't really love me anyway or don't have cars I submit---Some boyfriends have had the four story house, but I didn't feel love from them either. You can say I have a blind spot. But, I am fully aware of what I am doing. I am not closed off or shut down. Recently I decided to go towards people I want--- to tell the people around me how I feel. I did this recently to someone I really cared for, he isn't sure if he can give me anything back, but in my life that means no---and while I take no hard, it made me feel alive to tell someone that I love them anyway. Happy Birthday to me.