Merry Christmas, or at least, that’s what I’m supposed to say. But it doesn’t feel merry anymore, does it? Maybe it’s something that comes with age, or maybe it’s karma finally catching up to me, but I don’t want to be here right now. I plaster on a smile, do my best to get through the day, but inside, I’m lost. I disassociate just to keep the tears at bay. I want to cry, I want to scream, I want to shout to the world that this isn’t fair. I don’t visit my family much anymore, it shouldn’t feel like such a burden. But it does, like being dragged to a never-ending doctor’s appointment as a kid. Every visit feels like a ticking time bomb, emotions spiraling out of control. The air grows heavy, words sharper than knives, cutting deep and leaving wounds that never fully heal. Even in the quieter moments, the tension lingers, never fully gone. I miss being a child, back when life was simple, back when the weight of expectations didn’t feel so crushing. Back when love didn’t feel so conditional, so complicated. I’ve always dreamed of having a family of my own, but now I wonder if I ever could. What if it just turns into this? A cycle of toxicity, repeating endlessly. I want to love and be loved, but this, this isn’t love anymore. Happy holidays, or maybe, not so happy after all.
