Does it make me more mature?

Certain events mark the begginning of maturity
My life has a been an emotional rollercoaster. Everytime I was up, I could only hope the peace of the moment would last, but the terrifying leap down was inevitable. Birthdays consisted of a list, nobody knew you well enough to just go out and surprise you. Christmas was a list, and after you move away from the lacking family, you'd think, even though you didn't put it on you're list, you would atleast get a call.
Years were a bitter existence, wailing out like a new born baby, just asking for love. A silent wailing which confines itself behind a persons rib cage.
People are vengful creatures. When someone doesn't call you on you're birthday, you don't call them on theirs. When you don't recieve a gift for the biggest holiday of the season, gifts are not sent. Even a card, you'd think, atleast a card? I know it wasn't on my list this year, but you'd think a person would just know. A thought creeps silently in like the acrid scent of a cigarette wisp.
"Oh they know, they just don't think you're worth it."
We are vengful creatures for sure.
Some people age, but age isn't maturity. Sacs around your eyes form from sleepless nights, time makes them perminent. For some, the only thing that doesn't age, is that screeching baby within. The one that bawls for tenderness, the one you can never seem to put at ease.
I woke up one morning and looked at the calender, I never filled the damn thing out, it just seemed normal to have one. The only markings ever scribed on the perfect squares, where the ones in ink. Permented on everyone by the company. My calender has a list on the right hand side, I leave it empty. I hate lists. The square I have my eyes set on is today, it's blank. I am all to aware that it is my mothers birthday. I find it disheartening that I still remember. Every year I remember.
It's been years since I've exchanged pleasant words with the woman. I know deep down that it's childish to hold a grudge. I keep it to simple conversations the few times I see her. I haven't seen her for 2 years. I am 21 years old, a grown man and an infant at the same time. I've glanced at the phone so many times in the past hour, my eyes start to ache. A steady pulse begins in the back of my head.
I used to be a person who loved occasions. I liked gifts and cards, but they meant little to me. The key word here is liked, I used to concern myself with the lack of thought that went into the trivial things I asked for. I just wanted someone to get me something from the heart, but I see that to be trivial now as well. What I find myself wanting, sitting all alone in my laundry strewn apartment, is a phone call. I wouldn't even mind a package sent in the mail off my wishlist, because tearing apart the wrapping of a gift means one thing. I remembered.
That is the second thing I like about occasions. My first favourite is GIVING gifts, I like to make people smile. I like to be the one to call and say "hi," sending out that silent message that says,"yes, I remembered." That's why I'm sitting here between my phone and my calendar like I do every year on this day. I've wasted 1 day of the year for the past years since I was 18. The year I moved out and didn't recieve a birthday call. It's my stubborness that's held me back. I felt the chain links that held me down. It wasn't physical, it was emotional. It was time to stop being a baby, time to man up. So I picked up the phone, and I dialed in a number.
The end