Last year I experienced one of my worst birthdays in what I feel is the most beautiful place on Earth (Kauai, HI). I woke up expecting a birthday shout from ex-Mr via FB & IG, it was minimal, not quite up to par with the levels I truly expressed my love for him, but I have always been much better with words.

I waited a bit longer… then I finally asked him for my gift(s).

He had nothing for me. Not even a simple card.

He couldn't even provide the smallest gesture during our darkest times. Our marriage was in turmoil and he was grasping at straws trying to keep himself together. He was too focused on his internal struggles to swing by Walgreens and pick up a $.99 card. You should've seen my face, it fell and my heart broke yet again. I'm not a material person when it comes to receiving gifts, I would've been happy with Reeses Peanut Butter Cups and a handwritten note. I just wanted "thoughtful," I didn't expect "thoughtless."

That's when I should've known he was done with me.

Not in November when I asked for the all-out divorce. Not in September when I moved out after living with him for nine collective years. But on my birthday—the day where everyone you love is supposed to acknowledge the miracle of your birth, the fact you've been blessed to live "X" amount of years—I should've known it was our end.

He failed to provide one tangible symbol of love or affection, only excuse after excuse.

These days I am more excited than ever to celebrate my birthday, albeit now solo (temporarily—I hope). I cannot wait to put last year behind me. I look forward to another chance to celebrate the life I've been given, and I know I'm going to KILL MY 30's.