Today is my birthday’s day of celebration.  Since my actual birthday will be this Monday, and I couldn’t take off work, Sam and I decided to celebrate it today.  There was going to be cake, sushi, and it was going to be all about me for once.  Between the choice  Sam gave me of a romantic dinner with just the two of us and a gathering of friends, I picked a gathering of friends.  I sent the text message invitation out last week to Nyte, Clara, Sang, Leopard Fur, and some others.  Clara’s showing up later.  Leopard Fur said he’d try to make it.  Everyone else blew me off without even a phone call or text.

Last year, I would have been devastated at my apparent friendlessness.  This year, I’m enjoying the time I’ve had today to think about me and what I want.

I don’t want to spend the night of my birthday celebration catering to others with smiles and one-way emotional support.  This year, I have my adoring boyfriend, who hates Christmas but compromised his beliefs so I could put up a Christmas tree.  I have Clara, who knows how to be a true friend, even when she is struggling to be there for herself.  And I have Bodhisattva, my kitten.  He is my meowing symbol of stability, the one feature of my life I know, if I take care of him, will be here for the next twenty years.  Nothing else is certain but him.  Of Sam and Clara, I can only hope they symbolize the same.

But people are trickier than animals.  They have long mood swings.  They hold grudges over inanities.  They get depressed, like Nyte, and disappear.  Or, they change.  Wha/tever the case, the result is the same: I’m disappointed.

With Nyte, I’ve given her support, honesty, empathy, sympathy when I didn’t understand her actions, and love.  I’ve done the same for Sang.  But, for what?  Nyte is too caught up with men she doesn’t respect and whom don’t respect her.  And lately, Sang is preoccupied.

And then there’s Sam.

Sam  is different, but it’s difficult to explain.  Instead, let me show you what I see through an example:

Sam and I went to a bar last night, some too trendy place in Hoboken with loud music and backless chairs.  Sang wanted to flirt with a waitress there and meet up with a mutual friend of Sam and his.  An hour into the night, Sam and I were so irritated by various factors I won’t go into here, we started arguing about nonsense.  It was another of Sam’s panic attacks, a fear that became an anger he unleashed on me.  But I wasn’t in the mood to be understanding, so what should have been nothing escalated into something.

At some point, I thought, I should leave.  I shouldn’t be with a man who speaks to me like this.  I don’t want to be with a man who lashes out, even if it is out of fear.

True,  of late, he hasn’t been doing it more than once every few weeks.  It’s even true that his outbursts are always followed by some powerful self-revelation, a sincere apology to me, and a change in his attitude or actions.

However, last night, I didn’t care about any of that.  “I’m leaving you, Sam.  I’m tired of it.  You’re just a scared little boy” I screamed at him in the middle of a busy Hoboken street.  If people walking by gawked at us, I didn’t notice.  I didn’t care.  I was disappointed.  We had spent so many weeks without his jealous outbreaks, this lapse felt like I would never have peace from his raging insecurities.

I walked away from him, informing him I would find my own way home.  And for once, I wasn’t bluffing.  I meant it.  It felt like what I had to do for my self-respect, so I followed through.  I didn’t want to, but I had to for my own health and sanity.  I would figure out the logistics of my living situation and money issues later.  Right then, I just knew I had to do what was best for me, which was leaving him.

When he chased me down the street with an apology, I demanded more than sweet words.  I demanded change and listed my grievances with a purposeful voice.

I could tell he meant it when he said he would change.  After having heard the promises from several Andys, I consider myself an expert at knowing when a man is lying.  Sam gave me a plan of action for dealing with his insecurities as he drove me home; he didn’t blame me for “making” him angry, as I’ve so often been accused of doing; and he admitted the reasons for his behavior were inadequate.  The triple-combo—apologizing for what he knows to have been bad behavior, taking responsibility for his actions, and mapping a course of action—convinced me to stay around long enough to at least see if the plan would be put into motion.

It’s only been a day, but I already know he won’t disappoint me.  He’s a good man, even if he doesn’t know it.  He’s never disappointed me.  I’ve never lost respect for him, though there have admittedly been times he neared the limits.

And when it matters, he gives me what I need.

True.  He didn’t get me the ice cream Oreo cake I wanted from Carvel.  He didn’t surprise me with flowers.  He didn’t do anything incredibly romantic for my birthday at all.  He’s not good at those gestures.

But he’s good nonetheless—always trying to give his best to others, and to me, even when it means he has to make a few sacrifices of his own; making sure I’m always comfortable, even when it means he’s not.

I  can’t say that about most people in my life.  Clara’s driving in the snow at 1 AM to make sure she sees me this weekend.  What have my other friends done for me lately?  What have they done for me at all?  I’m starting to realize how few people there are who deserve my respect, much less my time.

So on my birthday’s day of celebration, to the sad lot in my life who suck at being good people and good friends, I say, goodbye and good luck.  I have no bitterness, and I’ll hold no grudges.  I’m happy to reconnect with you when you’ve become a valuable person of some sort.  In the meantime, to borrow from a friend of mine, I’ve moved on.

Happy Birthday to me.