Birthday.

Today is my birthday, August 29th. I've been alive for thirteen years as of six thirty AM this morning. I've been a writer for nearly five years. I've been a pagan for three. I've been a feminist for three. I've been a voice for three.

This is the anniversary of so much of who I am. Last year, I spent this day with Nan and my mother before I went to celebrate. Last year, I saw Melissa, my aunt now, for the second time. Last year, I got my first cell phone. (And broke it shortly thereafter). Last year on this day, I was joyful.

Two years ago on this day I would never have expected the move to be real. I was happy, I was having fun, I was probably partying. Daddy wasn't sick two years ago. It's my first birthday without him.

I've been getting phone calls today. I've been trying to be happy. But death's getting in the way.

Nine months ago, my Daddy died.

Three days ago, my friend's uncle died. I feel empty.

While this is my first year without Daddy, there are things I'm accustomed to: I have school in one week, I'm going to see my family tonight, I'm going to stay up really late, and I'm probably going to complain about all the back-to-school gifts I get. I'll be going to Bowmore again, just like last year.

I'm a teenager now. Officially, I'm thirteen. Not that I want to be. Rather just be an adult. I'm going to go into high school next year. This is my last year of elementary/middle school.

Funny. I don't feel any different than normal. I mean, I'm looking forward to the dinner, but my favourite birthday gift's passed now. I saw Lord Of The Rings the musical with my aunt.

A lot of people regret not enjoying their teenage years for various reasons. My mom regrets it, she was always boxed up in her depression. I know others, but I don't remember who all they were. They tell me to enjoy it while it lasts.

Enjoy what? Being a teenager doesn't feel any different than being a pre-teen. I don't FEEL older. I don't even feel as if anything special's happened. I'm too busy beating myself up and trying to figure out my novel which is almost deadlined.

Maybe next year it'll feel important. I'm still growing this year, and I'm not done mourning. Maybe once I am it'll feel like more. Double digits felt big. Maybe high school will. Or maybe it won't feel impressive until sixteen, when I can learn to drive. Or maybe eighteen, when I can vote. Who knows? Maybe birthdays won't mean much anymore. Maybe it's only life accomplishments from here on out. I can't say.

My heart's heavy. There's so much I have to say, so much I want to talk about. About the Earth, about women's rights, about just about everything. I'm a voice, not a person, but a storyteller. A speaker. Honestly, I feel like that's why I'm here: to speak. I wonder how long it will take for people to listen to me? Maybe they never will. But I think every person is born for a reason. I think we'll all do something important in our lives.

Happy birthday to me.