Still Raffish and Ragged

Just half an hour or so and the calls will start coming. I hope I am overestimating. No, I won’t be sad if no one calls. I’ll be perfectly alright, rooting for my comforting blues. I’ll be rather happy about it, perhaps in my own twisted way, but still. Well, I desperately want my phone to die away right now, so I won’t have to go through all those wishes with a smiling face. I wish everyone was as insensitive as my mother when she treats me at the perfectly wrong time in the worst way possible for a very trivial reason. Hating everyone blatantly would be really easy then. But I don’t like to hate. Trust me, they make me do it, it’s not my fault that I can’t tick like other clocks. There are people in my house, relatives. I don’t want them here, at all. I don’t know why I feel so tremendously sad on this very hour each year. This very hour, this hour before it turns 12 and it is 24th of June, before it is my godforsaken birthday.
I want to buy a house in southern France, take up a different identity and start over. I want to travel with just enough money to get me through the month and work at random places. I want to write something that would stunt the world. I want to change a lot of things in the world, a lot of people in the world, I want to break the ages old walls we are born and brought up within. I want to take Noir photographs that look like products of an astounding mind. I want to be beautiful to myself, completely. I want to meet somebody who would love me for who I am and not smother me with an overwhelming smell of stereotypical romance. I want to lose my virginity before I am old and all the anxiousness and fantasy about love making is gone from my semi-numb weird heart. It has been twenty years. Twenty freaking years. And all I have done is NOTHING. Absolutely Nothing. There's nothing I am really good at, there's nothing I excel in. Whatawaste. Ohwhatafuckingwaste.
I don’t want to whine like this. I don’t want to do anything. Especially I don’t want to turn 21. I don’t want to turn 21 like this – sitting in front of my goddamn pc, feeling claustrophobic, hating the whole world, going over and over my life till now and brooding about it. I don’t want a cake, hugs, flowers, cards, wishes, nothing! I want an escape. From all of this. From my very existence – the one here, right now, in this very moment, from everything surrounding me including all the pain, all those judgements, responsibilities, complaints, confusions, misunderstandings and fake loves.