Alright, let’s get personal. The Steven Universe movie touched some deep-rooted stuff, so let’s write a book about it while it’s on my mind.
I’ve touched on my birthday story before. But there’s more context.
I was always the funny one. When I was little, that was one of few things I knew for sure. I entertained people, because it was the one surefire way I knew of getting positive feedback from people. We’re talking being like eight years old. Always trying my best to be funny, be a positive presence, make people laugh. Make them like me. Of course looking back it’s easy to see how silly that was, to see the holes in it. But not when you’re that young. When you’re that young, you look for any pattern that makes sense, and you stick to it.
Until something breaks that pattern.
It’s been so long since I celebrated my birthday that I don’t even remember which birthday it was that did it. Nine, ten, eleven, somewhere around there. Planned a big party, invited all my friends, you know how it is. And the day came, and… nobody showed. Some called to explain why they couldn’t. Most didn’t. Even the one who I thought was my best friend had some excuse. I spent the day alone with my parents, trying my best to make the best of it, to not show how upset I was.
After that day, I started noticing things. Little things. Signs that people didn’t actually enjoy my presence. Signs that my efforts to entertain were actually annoying. As I got older, those signs got more and more direct as everyone entered puberty and got meaner.
So instead, I learned to stay quiet. If I didn’t annoy anyone, they might not dislike my presence. They might still want me around. And even when someone did seem to like having me around… how could I know for sure they weren’t just pretending? I couldn’t trust anyone anymore.
This became the root of my social anxiety. I’m in a better place now… sometimes. But I still don’t celebrate my birthday, never have again.
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