December 31, 2017.
23:45pm
Amina

Happy birthday!

Their sickeningly sweet voices rang out as they all cheered, encouraging me me to blow out my candles and make a wish.

I wish I'd just die.

Smiling at that thought, I blew out the candles and smiled at everyone around. Soon enough, I was being ushered into our large den which was situated to the left of the dining area, and presented with my gifts.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. My family, friends, they disgusted me. Here they all are, pretending that we were actually celebrating my life, when all they could think of was that exactly a year ago, I had tried to end it.

What made them think I felt any differently now?

My parents used to be Muslims, till they converted to Christianity six years ago. I was given a Christian name, but I stuck with Amina, much to their chagrin.

After my suicide a year ago, I was hospitalized, and then sent to a rehabilitation facility in UK for the rest of the year.

On returning, I was met with a large welcome home/ birthday party.

During rehab, a lot of my old friends tried contacting me, but I rarely attended to their calls or texts. My mother and her disgusting pig of a husband visited too. I had to play nice, because she had absolutely no idea what he had done to me. Nor did she know he played a major role in my decision to end my life.

One year later, and I still couldn't find a reason to live amongst the fake smiles and petty discussions.

There had to be at least three hundred people in attendance, laughing and making mundane conversation about irrelevant things, and I couldn't even pinpoint one real friend.

I still felt utterly alone.

"Amina, come over here, let me introduce you." My mum called, causing me to walk over.

It's my birthday party, and I'm being introduced to a guest.

Nevertheless I knew she had my best interests at heart, so I obliged her and acknowledged the guests, smiling and accepting good wishes wherever necessary.

I once again heard the loud chime of our clock, positioned directly opposite the door connecting the den to the dining, huge and imposing, matched only by the ostentatious chandelier at the centre of the room, counting down to the new year. It annoyed me, just as much as the slightly inebriated voices of the guests.

None of that mattered to me, anyway. I was just sad that my life wasn't fading away as it had been this time last year.

I couldn't register the sounds, the fireworks, nor any of the ongoing festives. I didn't try looking for my old friends. I just saw the clock signalling that I'd once again entered a year I never wanted to see.

Once again I was alive when dead was all I wanted to be. Alive, slightly irritated, and extremely lonely.

January 1, 2018.

Happy new year indeed.