Christmas is here. I just wish I wasn’t finding it so hard to concentrate. So many things are crowding my mind when all I want is to forget them all and concentrate on my family, who I have been pushing aside for too long because of my own problems. Lately I have been feeling myself undeserving of their constant concern for me, their unexpected cuddles and other little gestures of love that have been forthcoming no matter my mood. Which has usually been black or at least on the dark side.
For no other reason that Christmas being imminent, I’ve tried to lighten up a little over the past few weeks. Yesterday and today have been spent well in that respect at least.
Yesterday, my sister, mum and I threw ourselves into preparing our Christmas dinner which was consumed enthusiastically by everyone present last night. I barely remember the taste of the food – so stressful was getting everything out and presented on time – but that’s ok because I remember how much fun we had getting it all together. And besides, we’re having left-overs tonight!
Today I woke up at leisure, not having to be coaxed out of bed at 6 am because of Church for the first time. My phone was blinking and I reached over for it sleepily and smiled, reading all the Christmas messages from friends around the world. It hit me then that it was actually Christmas again, and I felt a bit of that thrill from my younger days.
The day went on and we had our kiri bath breakfast at home, exchanged our presents, went to Church at noon and then on to lunch with my grandmother. And yes, it was all wonderful. I was glad to be where I was – surrounded by my family, with everyone in high spirits.
But. There was just always something dragging down my mood. Distracting me. Upsetting me. Making me want to break away from everyone and disappear. Run to my room, lock the door, switch off all the lights and just sleep till it was all over. Anything to stop thinking.
Thinking leads to hurt. Hurt leads to anger. Terrible anger.
The funny thing is that it isn’t always there. There are times when I’m completely fine. I can see things clearly, I know I’ve made good decisions up to this point, I’m not angry, I’m not bitter, I’m accepting and slowly getting happier with my life the way it is now.
And then it comes. Sometimes like a slap across the face that elicits a response of rage mixed with humiliation. Sometimes like a slow-creeping vine that tangles up your insides and leaves you burning. Sometimes like an armour or defense mechanism that you can feel tensing up your muscles, until you’re ready to spring, like a cat – hissing and spitting, claws un-sheathed and ready to cause maximum damage the second you’re provoked.
I didn’t want to write this today. But writing helps. Soothes almost forcefully, as if my fingers tapping on this key board are invisibly dragging all of that ill-feeling inside of me bit by bit and putting it on the screen. Black and white. Easily edited, easily deleted, easily forgotten.
I didn’t want to admit to these feelings on Christmas day. But hey, it’s just the 25th of December. Just another date, right?
The cynics will agree with me there. But I’m not ready to join their ranks yet. So this is why I’m here, early Christmas evening, hurriedly chucking my upsets out into the blogosphere in the hopes that I’ll be able to snap out of this mood and spend Christmas in the spirit it’s meant to be celebrated in, with the people who love me the most.
Wish me luck.