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Happy birthday

A few people have made some sweet gestures for my birthday, including calls, cards, and LJ well-wishes. I wish it could sink in. Though I've appreciated it all, those efforts come in the context of the worst birthday I can remember.

Don't know that much of last night's downtime could be counted sleep; my teeth ground to the point of pain. When my mother called this morning, I desperately wished she were someone else, calling to say she's OK, or just calling to say something. Kept myself busy and upbeat at work, but left early when I knew I couldn't keep it up. Kept my sunglasses on when Heather came to bring me a card so she wouldn't challenge my assertion that I'm fine. The knot in my stomach remains my compainion; a hint of bile permeates my taste.

I'd never argue with the claim that I am too sensitive in some areas. My history makes me react to some things with great emotion, more than I can rationally control. I have buttons, and they've been pushed. I've lost too much to react otherwise.

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