I fucking hate my birthday
This is going to be a train wreck of a post but I'm here to post it.
So, as the title says, I hate my birthday.
One: my mom always every year wants to go out to celebrate, but will never let me hang out with friends. And if she does, she is there with me. It is shit, and she gets mad at me two days later on the dot because I should prioritize family more.
Two: my dad got kicked out of medevil times on my 16th birthday and tried to kill me the next day. Then after a doctor's visit, he was arrested on the 19th for trying to kill me.
Three: my grandpa died today, on my 20th birthday. He made sure to wish me a happy birthday before he died. He was a good man, and did not deserve to die.
So I fucking hate my birthday, and I never ever want to celebrate it. Fuck birthdays, and fuck July 9. I fucking hate it. I'm not okay right now my grandpa who loved me to bits is dead and he died lucid, but of a heart attack and they broke too many ribs trying to ressusitate him the other three times, and if they did it again, he would die of hemorrhaging and heart attack.
I need just one thing to go right. Just one.