The sleigh bells shriek in my ears with every damn ring. The strung up lights that border the neighbors rooftops cause my astigmatism to send blinding flares of light across my vision. Icicles drip from my nose and my numb fingers are a darkened violet and bright crimson, riddled with a pain that only amputation can relieve. Carolers sing out of tune and their songs drive me to drink. If I'm told that Santa Claus is coming to town one more time, his sleigh will be dodging my bullets on Christmas night. All of this to say, what is so merry about this holiday, anyway?
I can see the appeal, "the most wonderful time of the year." It is so easy to buy into the idea when you have all of the pieces of your puzzle in place, fitting into the parts of yourself that aren't so whole, filling the voids you couldn't possibly fill on your own. But what happens when you have been left with a void so deep, so dark, so hopeless that it could never be filled again, because the last piece of the puzzle is lost to you forever? You've checked under the table, behind the couch, even on top of the curtains and in the drain of the sink; all of the impossible places it couldn't have gone—but that you have been holding out false hope for anyway—and it is nowhere to be found. Are you supposed to join in on the festivities like nothing is wrong? Smile with tears streaming down your cheeks as though the sounds of other peoples cheer isn't piercing needles through your brain? As if you aren't silently begging for someone to stab you with the sharpened end of a candy cane just to put you out of your misery?
The smiles become harder to fake and the things others find joy in only leave me with a lingering headache. For all its faults, at least a white Christmas can be a beautiful sight. The world finally shuts up for a moment when the flurries fall gracefully from the sky and envelop the pavement in an icy blanket. The crystilizations on the ground will aid in the great escape; something to blame for when the car slides off of the road, the only thought remaining moments before the collision being: "at least I'll be with mom again."
tis the damn season.
and merry shitmas.
