The Ghost of Christmas Present.

I put my Christmas stuff up today.

I didn’t put anything up last year because my heart hurt so much. My heart hurts right now too though. I love every single thing that takes place the last two months of the calendar year. The magic the holidays bring makes my soul light up with warmth that lies dormant throughout the year.

I love the lights and the spirit and the snow. I love buying gifts for those I’m close to, decorating the tree, holiday parties. I love the food and the feeling of memories being made.

I thought this year would be easier than last and honestly, I know it will be. I thought that everything was going to be okay, that everything is okay because I’m okay.

But why do I find myself laying on my couch, eyes full of the biggest tears, feeling the need to write this sappy post with 3% battery at 8 p.m. on a Saturday night? I’m cozied up here next to Bodhi, my fake fireplace is crackling with seasonal spirit, and I’m watching the ninth Christmas movie this week.

I am okay but I’m really not.

The holidays haven’t even begun yet and I’m already getting pre-emo over the beautiful families in the Christmas cards I haven’t seen and the oh so romantic engagements or weddings.. or babies being born. It’s like I’m giving myself fair warning of what is to come.

I know it’ll be fine and I’ll find the happiness for those around me; fill my heart with glee for the genuine joy others are experiencing because that’s what you have to do. Fake it ’til you make it. Or some shit like that. But I haven’t found a cure for a heart forever broken from something it never truly had.

I can do this being alone thing for however long the universe thinks I need it. It just really really sucks sometimes.

But how does she get there?

How do you keep your guard up when all you want to do is let it down? How do you keep your heart safe when its sole purpose in beating is to love and be loved?


On one hand, she’s never known what it’s like to be loved. After all, her only experience probably wouldn’t be deemed a “love” by those in an expert field. Sure, she has loved. She has loved and lived and sacrificed and compromised to the point even of it significantly impacting her view of how false the definition of “to be loved” would be described.

And on the other hand, she has been loved but not the kind of love she deserves. Not a love that can withstand the turbulence of a lifetime. Not a love that can resolve disagreements peacefully and challenge her in the best ways.. instead of the worst.

Now, that the old love.. or love not is in the rear view, she can see what love is supposed to look like. She notices the simple kindness people provide to one another, how easy it is returned. How compliments are given so effortlessly and how dissimilar views can turn into a healthy discussion rather than a predator vs prey situation.

But how does she get there?

How does she keep her guard up when all she wants to do is let it down? How does she keep her heart safe when its sole purpose in beating is to love and be loved?

7-11-2008

Today used to be a day I looked forward to. Thinking back, I’m not quite sure why because it was always more important and meaningful to me than to anyone else in this world. I’ve always made holidays, birthdays, and anniversaries a big deal. He never did. No one ever does. I’d come to believe that I don’t deserve whatever it was I’d hoped for. But year after year, I’d still think it’d be different.

We were *this close* to hitting that 10 year mark. Can you believe it? After all we’d been through? Is that even a thing to say? After all we’d been through? Should you have to “go through” a lot to deem something worth staying in? Either way, I couldn’t do it anymore. I’d given up far earlier than I had even admitted to myself but was determined to make it work. What else was there out there for me? Who else? How many people would I be disappointing by breaking off an engagement? How painful was it going to be to see the dreams of becoming a mother and owning a home slip out of my fingers because I gave up? How deeply was my heart going to hurt accepting the fact that I’d be so alone for an undetermined amount of time? I’m glad I didn’t know the answers to those questions at the time because if I did, I never ever would have left.

Over the last 6 months or so, I’ve been all over the place. Was there more good than bad? Was this a mistake? Questioning everything. Depending on the energies in my mind on any given day, the answer differs. Overall, I know it was the right move. If anything, it should have been sooner so I could be over and done with this desolate time in my life. Wasting a half year away already swinging between the abiliity to function through a long-lasting situational depression and anxiety-ridden days of “when will this end?”

What I do know for certain is that I wasn’t happy. I try to remind myself of that daily or when I get down. I can’t explain it any other way than that and I know relationships aren’t designed to be rainbows and butterflies, believe me.. I know. But they do require an equal amount of committment and comprimise from both parties of which always teetered one way and not the other.

The last few months, I’ve been trying to rack my brain on how to move past whatever this lull is that’s happening to me but I’m struggling on figuring out how. Nearly 10 years is a long time especially when it started at age 18. I don’t know how to be or how to function properly as I should. I’m too attached, still, to everything. Every moment and memory, every day and night.. nearly every single one has him in it. It’s impossible to erase them all.

I’m not hung up anymore. Afterall, I’m the one that left. He’s moved on and I’m happy for him. Well, I say I’m happy for him. Sort of like a fake it ’til you make it kind of thing. But I am happy for him. I’m happy that he isn’t stuck inside a dome of lonliness like I am, at least I hope he’s not. Throughout my decision of leaving, that was my biggest priority. To make sure he was going to be okay, to make sure he had a place to go and live and to make sure he had the support system he needed. I needed to make sure it was all going to be okay for him before I could leave. But I forgot to make sure I was going to be okay.

So over it, self. So. Over. It.

I am somehow put together by million little pieces. They often stick together perfectly and than out of no where, they don’t. There is this mix of crippling anxiety paired with a ripple of depression.. both full of denial rolling in without warning, interrupting my spirit.

A negative stigma around mental health that I’m so painfully guilty of not understanding is hitting far too close to home. It’s happening to me.

I push it out of the way but eventually the impenetrable wall won’t move anymore and I just feel so broken. I am so broken.

I want to be okay like I used to be. I want to regain control. But just as I think I’ve gotten there again, another wave hits and I’m drowning all over again.

It’s always hurting, my heart. I’m just always hurting.

When you’re alone, no one ever asks if you’re okay or how your day went. And if they do, do they care about making it better if it’s not all sunshine and happy thoughts?

In the beginning, I needed to remind myself to breathe in and to breathe out. I needed to remind myself to put on a smile because it’s too hard to explain how I feel. And in the off chance I forgot to smile, it hurts just as much knowing whoever you’re talking to is ready to change the subject.

Some days, my entire drive to and from work is full of tears and flooded with good memories making me question everything. Or bathroom visits for the sole purpose of pulling myself together.

Everyone else is moving and I’m sitting still to the point that I wonder if my psyche is in retrograde. This constant hurt and loneliness is crippling me. It was almost easier when it all this happened because everyone was checking in, making sure I’m okay. Listening; offering advice and glimmers of hope. I can’t even seem to become the person I know I am because my decision to walk away is still effecting me every single moment of every single day.

I don’t want to talk anymore than you want to listen. But I need someone to hear me and to genuinely tell me it’s going to be okay. To believe it. And I need a hug. A real, full of so much love, hug.

I’m stronger than this. But, how long does it last?

Sometimes.

Some days go by so fast that I’m not ready for them to be over. Some weeks I have more things to do, more plans, more people than I know what to do with. Sometimes I wonder when the last time I had a night or two of nothing to give myself a minute to breathe. Some nights I don’t even remember what it was like to be with someone because my days and nights and mornings are filled with pleasant distractions.

And then some nights.. I feel like I’m the only one in this world that is alone. The only one that doesn’t have a person. No one to turn to, no one to have lunch or dinner with, no one to go to an event with or to seek advice from. No one to share my successes or shortcomings with; or selflessly love me regardless of the comment that comes out of my mouth next. No one is there to send stupid memes to or literally chill while watching Netflix. No one is around to be on my side always, to love me forever, to know me better than I know myself, to get me the way I get them. I feel so much for so many people all of the time but I’m afraid no one in this world will ever feel ‘so much’ for me.

And if you’re asking, the answer is no, I don’t miss him anymore. Each month that passes, my eyes are more open to the red flags that lingered around far too long. But I do miss the companionship, the personal cheerleader, the presence of another human. I miss knowing that I could say and feel and act however I wanted and I wouldn’t be looked at the way a stranger would look at me. I wouldn’t be judged or questioned or ridiculed the way a friend or family member would judge or question or ridicule me. I miss knowing that I had a person. A non-perfect in nearly every way, but a person nonetheless.

The emptiness and void doesn’t seem to go away. Perhaps it’s masked by all the “stuff” I have going on in the spurts of too busy to think but when the slow times come; when nothing is happening and no one is around.. it hurts. All of it, everything.. hurts. The feeling of standing still while everyone else, everything else is moving on.. it’s so real and it feels as if there’s all this noise around but eerily silent at the same time.

Some days I say goodbye to everyone at work come 5:00 and don’t say another word until ‘good mornings’ 15 hours later. Some weeks I wish people would do what I wanted to do or say what I needed to hear instead of it always being the other way around. Sometimes my tears are too big and the room is too dark. Some nights I wonder if I’ll ever feel better.


About This Post: For so long I’ve been writing in a personal draft without publishing anything. It’s nearly 20 pages long. Full of ramblings and sadness; memories that are good, bouts of depression from both sides.. Moments I knew it should’ve been over, doubts I had never said aloud. From day one, I’ve had so much to say but didn’t dare say it thinking if I at least get it down and out, I’ll feel better. Similar to the concept of writing something down and burning it forever. It doesn’t work. I didn’t want to hurt anyone or damage anything by writing it out on a blog that I’m sure no one reads. But the more that time passes, the only person I’m damaging at this point by keeping all of it in, is myself. Thank you for reading. More to come, probably.

Is it because looking in the mirror is too painful?

The stories you tell are lies. All of them, lies. Lies about the money and the moments; the bad without the good. The struggles that are made up and the sorry’s that were never said. Lies about the pain and the angst and the mental verses might as well have been physical, abuse. Or lack thereof. All of it, lies.

To fulfill what? The denial that all the lies about me are in turn truths about you? I wouldn’t dare spit wicked falsities into the desperate ocean of rumor-hungry ears. I barely feel free enough to spill the actuality of it all.

How is healing supposed to begin when the damage never ended? What’s more agonizing than the lies you spread.. is that I should have recognized the scarlet colored flags so much sooner.