A dirty rotten lie.
I'm so angry I don't even have words. Well, I have a LOT of words, but I'm not sure it's a good idea to repeat most of them.
I"m a 35 yr old broken down, fat, chronically ill, miserable excuse for a person. Sugar-coat it how you will, that's the truth of it. I'm broken. There is no fixing me. I have a incurable condition, I've responded terribly to the normal courses of treatments. Nothing helps. I just keep fatter, and more broken down.
So I freely admit I shouldn't be on the sugar train. I am sugar's bitch. Always have been. I'm working on it damnit. I drink herbal tea, I don't add sugar. I only have pop on the rare rare occasions I'm out for dinner (twice this year!!!) or if I'm horribly nauseous and candied ginger isn't enough - these occasions have also decreased. I eat chocolate, but not ever day, more like 1-2 a month. I'm trying. But it's never, NEVER good enough.
So last month I turned 35. I didn't have a birthday. I am clearing that up right the fuck now. Birthdays mean presents and cake and celebration. There was no birthday gift (@least not from the expected source), there was no cake, there was no celebration. Hence, NO birthday.
I don't think I expect a lot. I really fucking don't. This year my gift desires were too expensive. I wanted jewelry, but my husband's budget was a no without saying no. I fucking hate it when someone pussyfoots around no like that. JUST FUCKING SAY NO GOD DAMNIT. Anyway. That was my fault. I shouldn't have expected so much. Birthdays mean nothing to him. He totally doesn't get it. I should have known better on that one. No gift at all though, that's just... Yeah.
But I can get over that. That was my fault. I wanted more than I should have ever expected to get.
What I can't forgive. What I'll never be able to get over is the cake.
I'm a foodie. Gee, isn't that obvious? How do you get to my size and not love what you eat? God, that would be sad....over-eating and hating food at the same time. But I don't think I over-eat damnit!! I'm ill. I don't have the energy a normal person does. I've been wracked with chronic pain for so fucking long, that even if the pain was gone tomorrow, I just don't have the stamina healthy people do. I can't do as much. Being in pain all the damn time, even with pain drugs -- cause ya know, the only make the pain less bad, they don't make it go away -- means I get tired out really fucking easy. So I can't exercise like I would need to to loose all this weight. Also, I've spent years on drugs that made me put on weight, that fucked up my metabolism so bad it wouldn't have mattered what I did, I'd still have gained weight. So yeah.
Anyway! Here I am. FAT. With not a lot of energy. Trying. I'm still fucking trying. I know it doesn't always show, but I'm fighting the good fight.
Anyway! I love good food. I come from a family of good cooks, and good bakers. We show our love with food. Food is at the centre of our social gatherings, but then I think that's just a human thing....
What's my point? I had a point somewhere.... Ah. Cake. For me, there is no birthday without cake.
Everything, everything else can go to hell, but if there is no cake, and no one to share it with, then there is no birthday. I don't know how that became my rule, likely too many horrible shitty birthdays with my former best friends just completely fucking forgetting I even existed on my birthday, but the two constants were my parents happy I was there and cake. As long as I could share cake with my mom, none of the rest of it mattered. Seeing her smile, seeing her enjoy the cake just as much as I did, sharing that moment, that was special, that mattered.
But I don't live with my parents anymore. I don't get to share my cake with my mom. I live with my husband who doesn't have a fucking clue about birthdays or birthday cake.
So, yeah, on my birthday, my husband tells me I don't get a birthday cake because I'm not well enough. He goes on to day that it's the bacteria infection ( a perfectly normal kind that often doesn't leave after one course of treatment btw), and the yeast infection (caused by the fucking antibiotics I was on for the bacterial infection thank you very much), and that when I was better I was owed a cake. So it's been almost a month since my birthday, the infections are way past gone, so I ask when I can get my cake and he says "when you're well enough". What the raging fuck?!
My heath isn't good right now, and having cake is going to 'knock me on my ass'. So you know, some (fictious) point in the future when I'm "Well enough" I can have cake.
I'm never fucking going to BE well!! I'm chronically ill. I have an incurable condition. In the eight years he's known me I've never gotten better, I've only ever gotten worse. I'm NEVER GOING TO BE WELL ENOUGH. Never.
WTF does that mean anyway "well enough"!?! Vague much!
I personally don't think I'll ever get any better than this. I just keep getting worse and worse and worse. I know that's not a good reason to start eating food that's bad for you, but I'm not fucking talking about adding cake as my lunch for the rest of my life. I'm talking about fucking having birthday mother-fucking cake for fuck's sake.
I turned 35 years old. I'm an old woman and I want some mother-fucking cake. I also want someone to enjoy it with. That part matters. I've had birthday cake alone (it sucks). My husband hates the cakes I make for myself - this is why I stopped making my own birthday cake - he would refuse to eat birthday cake with me. So I'd have to eat it alone.... Nothing sadder. No cake at all is better than the emotional 'FUCK YOU' of having my SO refuse to celebrate my birthday, refuse my birthday cake. It's like saying he wishes I was never born. That's what I hear when he says he doesn't want any of my birthday cake -- you know, in PAST years when I was "allowed" birthday cake!!! And he fucking scarfs every other baked good I make, but I couldn't even get him to have one tiny slice on my birthday! The next day, the day after, that's fine, I can handle the refusal, but on my birthday, when I'm cutting my cake for the first time, it's just him and me, and he fucking refuses cake!!! Might as well slap my face and say he wished I was never born, cause that's what I heard.
Now back to this "well enough" bullshit. If I should wait until I'm "well enough" to have birthday cake, should I wait until I'm "well enough" to get my hair cut, to take an online course, to visit my parents, to go for daily walks, to to do any fucking thing that might bring some joy to my life???
Cause all of those things would stress my body too. So I should just sit here and wait until I'm "well enough", whatever the fuck that means, before I do anything with what little life I have?
WHAT THE FUCK.
Life is too fucking short.
I'm never fucking going to be well enough!!
THIS IS IT.
This is all there fucking is for me. This is fucking it.
What is the fucking point of life if I'm just supposed to wait around until I'm fucking well enough!??@?!?@#?!
I might as well kill myself right now because I'm never going to be well. Not ever. "Well enough" is always going to be out of reach - it's a moving fucking target for fucks' sake. So what the fuck is the point of any of it? What?!?!? Why should I even bother trying??? No fucking point. None.
The cake is a lie.
A dirty rotten, mean ass lie.