I don't know what it is about the time around my birthday that makes me anxious and sad.
I seem to have it in my mind that this day is the conclusion of everything I deserve from what I have put in since last February.
Laughs upon laughs at girly night, then when it comes to planning a birthday night out, they can't afford it.
Lack of birthday wishes from people who once held the date heavy on their hearts.
I need to bloody snap out of it, grow up and be happy with what I do get. I know it is so immature, I recognise that! But at the end of every January, the feeling soon rears its ugly head.
What else could be worse than the birthday blues? A bad trip to the hairdressers; what a lethally depression combination. I asked for brown! Not red! And it's turned out purple. And I really needed a thorough cut, which, judging by the lack of hair on the floor, did not occur.
Give it a bloody rest Jess, it's only a haircut. I have to laugh about it all really, otherwise I really would cry.
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