General Apology

I had to rant on my blog because it is safe.  But, it was not very kind.  I know it.  Although, I said a couple of things that made me laugh when I read back.  One thing it was is real.  It is where I really am.  But the reason blogging is better than having my rant at him is that he will simply pick apart my words if I talk to him when I'm emotional.  He will tell me how I'm saying it wrong.  He will tell me how I can't use generalities.  How I have to give specific examples.  He will make me crazy by hearing something completely different than anything I have said.  And.......in the end, he will turn it into being about how I should feel sorry for him.  So, instead of doing that, I ranted here.  So, I'm sorry for my temper tantrum.
When I talk to him, I want to have it straight in my mind.  I want clarity.  And that is hard.  Because this is hard.
This is just a hard week.  Soon it will be my birthday.  Too bad that thought makes me want to cry.  More and more I miss having a mama.  I guess it will be hard until the day I die.  Because it hasn't gotten any easier with the years.  Wish she was here to be glad that I was born.  Wish she wanted to be with me for my day.  Wish she could be the person who wants to make it a good day.  Who cares that it's a good day.  I feel in the way.  Like an imposition.  I just wanna' say, "we can skip it this year if it's such a problem."  Every year it feels like pulling teeth.  It's not something that is anticipated.  Planned for.  It is assumed that I will plan what to eat, buy it...then it will get cooked.  I dread the present.  Absolutely.  Last year I bought myself dishes and said that they were for my birthday.  And....they were.  No other gift.  No sense of, "but I wanted to do this special thing..." It's too bad because I've always really liked having birthdays.  It's just so hard to feel like I have to make the hoopla.  Like it doesn't matter.  I know it's not true, but I feel like I don't matter unless I happen to fit into everything else.  Last year he offered to take me out to dinner if I wanted to go where he had a buy one get one.  I know that being frugal is good.  I like it too.  But for some reason, in the midst of everything else, it seemed petty.  Like even on my birthday I wasn't worth it.  Like he couldn't put aside a few bucks to take me out where I wanted to go.  I declined.  Said I'd rather just eat at home with the kids.  Nobody ever knows.  I've covered well for him.  But the years are going by and it's wearing on me.  I don't want to live dreading those things that are important to me.  Dreading being hurt more.  Dreading having to be nice.  I ache inside.  Deep down.  And eve on good days, the ache is so real.
My second son asked me, of his own volition, what I wanted for my birthday.  How kind.  How sweet.  He had ideas.  He was planning. I almost wept.  Right there.  I want to make it for my kids, but living like this is not going to make me into a very great person.  Hurting and hiding and trying to fade into the woodwork isn't a good example.  But, I've got to wonder if they'll hate me.
What a week.  I think I'll go away for a day or so.  Just need to breathe.