I’ll Have A Blue Christmas

I am sitting upright in the bed in one of my parents’ spare bedrooms. For what seems to be the 100th time in as many days, I cannot stop the cascade of tears. All I know is at this point in time, I feel like this might be the most miserable and exhausted I have *ever* felt.

It feels as if it’s hitting me at once. All of it. The loss of my boyfriend in July, along with his dog, who I loved so dearly. The essential loss of my house when I had to open it up to strangers to help keep me from being homeless. The loss of my own beloved dog, who, though old, I apparently believed to be impossibly immortal. The loss of another man who became to mean so much to me in such a short amount of time. The loss of my faith in the general population surrounding me that I had once believed to be favorably benevolent.

In the room on the other side of me sleep my two daughters, more precious to me than anything I have ever, and will ever, possess in my lifetime. Their love for me, their actual need for me, is the main reason I even care if I wake up tomorrow.

My friends call me “strong.” It doesn’t feel right to accept their compliment. They can’t really mean it. And I don’t believe it. This isn’t strength. Certainly not MY idea of strength, anyway.

None of my “losses” I’ve mentioned are unique. They’re not even that horrible, compared to the myriad of possible options; ones that others have actually experienced, and perhaps felt much less anguish over them than I over mine.

But my losses have been life altering for me. And not in a positive way. They have not strengthened me. They’ve only made me bitter, jaded, ashamed, and elevated my anxiety closer to the surface.

I used to consider myself a happy person. I used to genuinely like myself. This used to be my absolute favorite time of year, and my favorite day of the year. But, at least right now, as I sit here with wet, swollen eyelids, while feeling disgusted with the person I am as of late, the only thing I want to actually say out loud at 2:22 a.m., December 25, 2020, to no one in particular, is…Merry Fucking Christmas and go fuck yourself.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s