23.12.06

Empty Heart Is As Empty Glass

It's really hard for me to drive by the brightly lit houses with their Christmas trees sitting in windows like a beacon of happiness I can never reach. It makes me feel so empty. On the outside looking in at contentment that I'll never have. Logically, I know that no one's life is perfect, but at times like that, it's hard to remind myself of that. I get no pleasure anymore from those houses that are lit up and decorated. I would rather not see them. It would enable me to keep this pain in my strongbox where it belongs. I guess the strongbox has some cracks, though, because the pain keeps leaking out no matter how tightly I secure and lock it.

I'm not looking forward to going to my aunt's house (my dad's sister) tomorrow night for Christmas Eve dinner. Not only will there be tons of shit there I can't eat (Celiac Disease), which will make me feel like some sort of diseased freak, but also playing family makes me feel so empty. It drains the hope in my heart just as surely as one can poke a hole in a can of soda and watch it pour out. I know they don't love me, but I desperately want them to. They don't understand me and make no effort to and I desperately want them to. I've tried to understand them and to show them that I love them, but my efforts only get me unresponsiveness. Kind of like trying to grab air. It's just not there.

Last Thanksgiving, I spent in Houston with my aunt Carol (my mom's sister). I drove down there with my mom. Even though my mom got on my everlasting nerve while on the 12 hour drive, Carol was shitfaced drunk most of the time and I had flashbacks of my grandfather molesting me, I felt more accepted and understood there than I do here. I met all of my aunt's closest friends, who were amazing. I remember thinking to myself, "It would be easy for me to love these people" and I can say with some certainty that I think they would love me back. I think my mom and I were the only straight people at Thanksgiving dinner. It didn't bother me in the least, though, because I felt accepted and understood and despite the fact that my aunt Carol is a raging alcoholic, I know that she loves me.

God, I hate the Holidays.

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