Dear August, what have I even done to you?

Do you even remember how, as kids, we used to get hyped for our birthdays? I was one of them too — counting days from a month before, picking a birthday dress, daydreaming about how special it would be, making scenarios in my head like every other “normal” kid. I’d expect the day to feel magical.

My birthday falls on 12th August — a month full of festivals and joy. I used to feel proud of that, proud of my month, the one marked with a different color in the calendar, buzzing with celebration everywhere. But as I grew up, my birthday started turning into a day of disappointment. Year after year, it just got worse.

My family? Not a big fan of birthdays. For them it’s “overhyped.” No gifts, no celebrations. Sure, Mom would cook something delicious (bless her), but I always wanted it to be celebrated like other kids’ birthdays. I forced myself to make peace with it.

Then I grew up even more and saw how people treat their friends on birthdays — gifts, surprises, midnight calls, birthday treats. I had “friends” who did all that for everyone else in the group, so naturally I thought, maybe this year it’s my turn. But nah… I was wrong. No one did anything for me. Not even remembered. No 12 AM calls. No gifts. No surprises. Just another day slipping by, leaving me hollow.

Even in my teenage years, when I finally had a few “good” friends, it was the same story. Nobody cared enough to make it special. I always had this fantasy of a fairytale birthday but no one ever made it happen for me. So I thought, fine, screw it. I’ll take the reins. I started planning my own day, but even then my so-called friends couldn’t give me that one day. That stung even worse.

The last two birthdays though? Different. Actually felt good. Bucket list — check. Cake at the beach — check. Sundowner party with a fairytale vibe — check. Sounds satisfying, right? Oh but wait… there’s a twist.

The birthdays went well. But the month? The month I used to be obsessed with? That was a whole different battlefield. Life saw me challenging it — “I’ll make myself happy even if you disappoint me every year” — and life said, “Bet.” It threw a man at me who would fill up my bucket list on my birthdays and then fill my buckets with tears by the end of the month.

August 2024: biggest heartbreak of my life. My heart crushed. Lifetime trauma. Panic attacks. Self-doubt. I was soaked in tears by the end of August — my “favorite” month — thinking of ending my life. You’d think, okay, maybe it’s just one bad year. But nope. My life has to stay stubborn and competitive with me.

August 2025? Even worse. Epic birthday — flowers everywhere, a dream dinner after the sundowner, fairytale decoration. Most of my close ones were there. But the month wasn’t over yet. Another heartbreak. Same person. This time, losing the love of my life. No hope left. And the worst part? I wasn’t even fighting to get him back. Just pure disappointment — not with him, not with me — but with destiny.

I lost the one battle I never wanted to lose. The person I loved from every bone in my body, the one I’d give up the whole world for. Gone. This was supposed to be my story of victory. Instead it’s a tragedy.

All of this — this whole wreck — inside the same month I once used to get excited about. But not anymore. I’ve started to hate the day and the month. August has given me nothing but disappointments and tears. This month has snatched the love of my life from me — twice.

Can you even imagine getting stabbed in your heart, but the stabber isn’t satisfied, so they pull the knife out, sprinkle some medicine on the wound, and then stab you again even harder, leaving you numb? It doesn’t kill you. It just takes away your will to live. Because dying feels easier, less painful, than dragging yourself through suffering in the hope of healing — healing you’re not even sure will ever happen.

Sound painful? This — this is what August has done to me.

So, dear August, what have I even done to you? That you’ve left me lifeless without killing me.

Maybe one day you’ll soften, maybe one day you’ll stop testing me. But until then, you’re not my favorite month anymore. You’re just a lesson carved into my chest — a story of how something once magical can turn into pure ache.