Today I am 24. 24 but I feel like I'm 64. Everyone wishing me happy birthday makes me sick. This is my least favorite day of the year. 20 of those 24 years were spent in a living hell. The other day my friend was talking about the father daughter dates she and her dad went on, her favorite was fishing. My father daughter "dates" consisted of blow jobs, and polly pockets if I was good. Why would i want to celebrate a day marking the beginning of my life in hell. I wish i could erase this day off the calender. I don't see anything worth celebrating. I'm so tired of this. My family hates me. I hate myself. My dad had s** with me, that makes a whore. He took away the one thing I prized so much. This is what runs through my mind every time I hear those two words, happy birthday. How can two words that are supposed to be so happy kill my soul bit by bit each time they are uttered.