The Party's Over

The Party’s Over
An original short essay by Michele E. Gwynn Copyright (C) 2017, All Rights Reserved

Forty two birthdays. I’ve had forty-two birthdays, and not a single one has ever been spent with a special someone. I used to tell myself that it was simply because I hadn’t met Mister Right yet, and then I told myself it was a choice. I mean, I could find someone if I wanted to, right? Isn’t there someone for everyone? I guess it was a rhetorical question because not only have I not received an answer, I’ve also not met anyone along the way. Well, I’ve met a few, but the interest has always been one-sided.
So what’s wrong with me? I’m nice, friendly, easy to be around. I love animals, kids, science fiction, action films. I’m basically a cool nerdy chick. I’d say my looks are average, I think. I mean, I’m not butt-ugly, just not perfect. Who is? Okay, there are some pretty perfect looking people out there, but on a scale between a 10 and a face only a mother could love, I definitely fall right in the middle. If I dress up, my odds increase, but here I am, still on my own.
I’ve watched all my friends find their someones. Watched them have kids, go through all the ups and downs, but as the years trickled by, I’ve pulled back. Kept away from everyone. It’s not easy. In fact, it just gets harder being around everyone who has someone, and then having them ask that one question that stabs me in the heart…Have you met anyone? Are you dating? Are you still single? It’s always a variation of the same question, and no matter how it’s asked, it feels like what they’re really asking is, “What’s wrong with you?”
Holidays are miserable too. For a while, I tried being upbeat, thinking if I just painted on a smile, it would all be okay. Now, I just stop communicating with everyone during the holidays. I bunker down, disappear, stay out of sight until it’s all over. I tell myself it’s just another day, just Christmas – big deal! Just a new year – so what? And screw you, Valentine’s Day! Everyone has gone on with their lives. Mine stalled when I wasn’t looking, and now, I just wonder what the point is anymore. Why am I even here? If I were a good person, a person worthy of love, wouldn’t someone love me? I’m loving. I care. I’ve shown it a thousand ways, but for some reason, no matter how I’ve put it out into the world, it hasn’t come back.
All my efforts have earned me are those who use me for whatever they need at the time. I’ve learned to recognize those people. Now, I just avoid them. Others just look through or past me, and I’m smart enough not to make a fool of myself, so I just fade into the background, the outsider looking in. It’s better than setting myself up for the pain of rejection. It’s okay if I hurt all alone. No one knows that way, and I’m not bothering anyone, not being a burden. I can cry myself to sleep, and at least I don’t have to feel the sting of pity from another. I don’t want that. I just want…I don’t know…what everyone else seems to have so easily. But time has run out. The candles on this cake are bleeding wax all over the place, and I’ve run out of wishes. It’s a fool’s errand after yesterday’s news.
Another birthday alone. Damn. And it’s my last...Happy freaking birthday to me.

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