Secondary Title: How To Make Other Humans Who Don’t Get It Feel Deeply Uncomfortable On The Internet This Christmas

Third Title: I’m Sorry But It Doesn’t Get Better And Sometimes That Is Okay

Fourth Title: PM Me For My Address If You Really Mean It About The Pizza

Prequel to step one: Wake up crying and in an empty household. Remember you have cats to feed. Feel slightly relieved YET resentful that you have cats to keep you alive this Christmas.

1) I like to start out by imagining in great, disgusting detail how everyone reading this will feel so very sorry for me and be reminded how thankful they are for their own abundant life of family and love this holiday season. This is the gift I am actually giving the world at large. I exist for your winter solstice reflection purposes.

Most people in sad sack situations like myself will say “I don’t want anyone to feel sorry for me”. But not me. Oh I am pityable (so pityable, in fact, that I just made that word up) and I am a void that you can fill with your sympathy and puffed out lower lip and Precious Moments eyes that are brimming with tears. I will open my mouth and you can let those tears fall into my gaping throat.  I will take it all. In fact, if you want to FaceTime or Skype me I will most definitely cry with you while making eye contact so we can pretend to feel something for a moment (a precious moment;)). And if that means you are moved enough to sending me some pizza delivery as a consolation, or maybe to drop off a case of Ben & Jerry’s Peanut Butter World, I will most definitely take it.

Just remember, while you are drinking a little too much wine (2-3 glasses, OMG, LOL, YOU GONNA HAVE SUCH A HEADACHE TOMORROW) and laughing with your family over silly memories you have collected over the years like the kooky peanut butter incident of 1994 and fawning over your newborn nieces or nephews and catching up on all the travels and growth you experienced in 2016 and patting yourself on the back for not being a racist because you didn’t vote for Trump, kissing your partner on the cheek and nuzzling your nose into their cheek WHICH IS YOUR FAVORITE SCENT and calling them BABE and feeling cozy and all that stuff, just remember I have been gritting my teeth for 48+ hours cycling through numbness and extreme feelings of self judgment that range from apathy to the pathetic to all the pathologies including mild sociopathy and laughing maniacally at all the CHOICES Netflix has to offer.

I prefer Papa Johns to Dominos if you were wondering.

2) Then I like to pat myself on the back for being a lone wolf that has learned to navigate her way through life with her keen sense of self awareness and powerful ability to survive any emotional terrain that doesn’t need anything from anyone even though I want it all AND I want to steal your joy, too.

 Sometimes I wonder if my face is ever going to take on that sexy weathered look that so many people with deep emotional problems have. Sharp cheekbones, sunken in deep set eyes, cotton mouth, scabies, herpes, anal warts, bone marrow showing, no blood type. You know what I’m talking about. Until then, I will remain looking like the girl you kind of recognize that maybe served you coffee once and told you “Want to die” when you casually asked her how her day was going.

SO.  My mom made other plans on Christmas day. LOL. I am her only child. I texted her I was going to be alone on Christmas to which she responded “I’m going to the movies with my friend.” LOL LOL LOL LOL

I mean, it’s really a relief. I mean, we actually spent Thanksgiving together this year because she doesn’t have a boyfriend right now and she stayed way too long anyways and I drank myself into oblivion afterwards so it’s probably better off. I mean, I just like to tell myself we are complicated humans leading complicated lives and she’s just living her life but I have a glimmer of sadness in my heart that says “I’m still the child and you’re still the mother”. I mean, what’s the big deal. I mean, it’s not like I don’t remember all the years of neglect and why would I believe it would ever be any different unless it’s on her terms as it has always been. I mean, she’s a good person.

Then I remember Syria and I go “Welp. There’s always Syria.”

Imma go buy a pack of cigarettes.

3) Put Snapchat filters on my cats for hours and reopen the same social media apps every 3 minutes and hate scroll. Pace back and forth for a little anxiety induced exercise. Decide not to fold the laundry I have never in my life folded before because, UM, IT’S CHRISTMAS.

Self explanatory.

4) Pièce de résistance: Start envisioning what my life would be like had I not always been a giant weirdo freak-a-zoid from the very beginning.

This is where things start getting dark. It’s actually fun and a little thrilling to imagine people’s pity and possible free pizza and ice cream delivery.

I first like to get really detailed. I can see myself as a little child feeling unloved and unsafe from the beginning.  Oh, the monsters under the bed that never existed but the ones living in my very own house were very real!!  EEK.

My favorite thing to reflect on is everyone blaming me for being my own problem as a child. It was never the crack head step dad, the cops breaking through the front door, the emotional abuse, the isolation and neglect. It was because I was TOO SENSITIVE. Maybe it WAS attention seeking, just like this blog is. This blog is a prime example of my self-confession having no boundaries because no one ever paid attention to my needs or me. So now I am an adult woman, 35 years of age, showing you all my demons. I can be nothing else. If I tried to be, I think I’d be dead.

I like to imagine college degrees I have always deemed myself too lazy and stupid to achieve. I imagine recognizing hunger and cooking for myself, knowing other basic self-care actions. I imagine having one cocktail and having that be all I need. I imagine having a baby and experiencing life all over again with fresh eyes. I imagine caring about if I live or die and dancing all around the Earth all while being naturally high on gratitude. I imagine having protection. Someone that would kill to keep me safe, like my own personal Xena Warrior Princess.

SOMETIMES, I like to imagine I had a very loving, healthy childhood and that I would be the EXACT same person with the EXACT same issues anyways and that there is NO OTHER version of myself that would exist regardless of my circumstances.  I haven’t decided if that makes me feel better or worse.  I certainly wouldn’t have started this stupid blog. Maybe I’d have like an Etsy store where I crafted jewelry made from “up-cycled” material or something instead.  God the possibilities.

5) I know that I am lucky.

Did I tell you how lucky I am? This is not sarcasm, believe it or not. When the weight of anxiety lifts from my chest and the physical feeling of depression lightens up pressure on my brain, I know I am so lucky.

I am lucky because I know something a lot of the world does not. I have been to places inside my own body that most of you will never get to explore. I have giddy secrets. I have grown these long crystals in my heart that no cave in the world could possibly hold.

AND I just found a chocolate bar WITH hazelnuts hidden in my cabinet that I had forgotten about so WHO IS THE REAL WINNER THIS CHRISTMAS.