"You are fucked up!" Were the words that taunted me as I slowly and silently tried to keep myself together. I'm sitting on the bus waiting for my stop and the tears won't go away. I'm a public mess with tainted history pouring down my cheeks. All I can do is sniffle and occasionally wipe a tear or two before the woman in front of me turns around to ask, "Honey, are you okay?" In which I reply, "Yes, holiday crap. Thank you for asking." Lie. Kinda.
My scarf is wrapped too tight and it doesn't help that my bag strap is confirming it's grip around my scarf. I thank God that I'm one of those people who NEVER goes out in public without sunglasses, even in the dead of dark winter. I have this fear of confronting strangers eye to eye, what if they see my truth and then I'm left in abandonment. It's one thing to break down on a bus quietly crying but it's another to be found of all the horrible things you may have done in your life by your eyes giving you away. I can't go eye to eye with people on that level. Weak. Sorta.
I hate this time of year. I know we all say it, "No one celebrates the holiday for it's true meaning; love and Jesus. Instead it's commercial and I hate it!" Maybe that's what you say but not me. I am beyond hating commercialism and longing for true meaning. I honest to Jesus and all that lives above hate holidays. I for one, feel contempt for turkey, ornaments, and trees. I don't as much hand out a Christmas card or a Happy Holiday comment unless I'm sedated in the form of drunk and forget the pain I'm masking. I live every day like this, I forget is this what fucked up is? Yes. No.
If the comment in my head wasn't trying like hell to convince me I am fucked up and the public burst of crying wasn't taking over my face and my childhood was less dysfunctional and abusive, I may have just thought that the guy who got off at his stop was gorgeous. He sat near the bus driver and wore a black jacket with ipod earphones and not once did he notice I was alive. I am sickly attracted to those who don't give a rat's ass about me. And I scare off the man who is clingy and needy of my love and affection. I'm afraid my past experiences know no middle ground. In between my bouts of depression, I will think about him all day long and I will name him Jon. Crazy. Love.
Tomorrow I will be separated from my family. They don't like me. And have chosen to celebrate in my absence. This stings like those many slaps I endured as a girl. Another holiday meal will be baked with resentment and served with hostility. But I won't be present or invited to accept the gifts of hate we hand out to one another like a good fucked up family does year after year and year after that year. I don't speak to them nor them to I. We go about our daily chores forgetting the other exists. I came from her loins yet, I am invisible to her reality. My heart will not allow forgiveness and therefore she dies before my eyes and drowns in my dreams. We celebrate as if nothing ever happened. Only I was there, I know. Truth. Hurts.
"You are fucked up, deal with it!" I'm being told. Turkey is a cold meat sandwich. Mashed potatoes are a bag of chips. Pumpkin pie is a chocolate chip cookie. Holidays are a death threat. Silence is justification. Jesus was my savior. My thanks for tomorrow is nil. I give back what the universe shoved in my face. Here, take that...I am dead inside. But don't worry, I can still cry in public on a bus filled with no one. Fucked. Up.
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