This is ME.

Minus the alcohol because yeah, I’m broke. Hellidays. No wonder the suicide rate goes up every year at this time. Family or no family, it’s just a really depressing time of year for some of us. Less loneliness and more about stress and the futility of it all.
Oh, yes, I am my bright ray of sunshine self today.
Black sunshine. With stabby sharp spokes.

In all fairness, I have much to be grateful for. It wasn’t a bad Christmas. We had good good, there were gifts, no family drama.
But like last year on Christmas Eve, I got my drama, anxiety, and frustration in one fell swoop. Car trouble. Simple four mile trip to take my mom out for a sonogram. Bam. Started goes out. Cold rainy day. I wore my thinnest clothes, no gloves or hat. And had to call my dad for help, which is as much fun as a root canal stone cold unmedicated.
This on top of my mom telling me she has to have a biopsy because there is concern about the lump.
Merry fuckin’ Christmas. Five hours freezing in a parking lot getting snarked at by my dad sweating getting everything done in time for the shindig.
My dad was rocking the asshole thing more than usual.
At one point, stepmonster screamed at him, ‘Would you get off her ass, you’re like a diaper!”
Good to have an ally. I mean, she was the one on the cold wet ground banging her knuckles working on the car not bitching a bit…and he was being a douche.
Family. One of those loaded words that can be good or bad.

Needless to say…all got done. No more drama. Car running again. Happy toy laden child. I even got some goodies. Which is mind blowing because my mom spends all the money on my sister’s bum friends and one meal and never listens to what I want.
Miracles do happen.

Unfortunately…it left me tapped out. Like being overdrawn on a bank account. I’ve got no balance. I am actually in the negatives. I went to sleep early. I eventually snapped awake long enough at 5 a.m. to play Lazy Santa. (recycled giftbags as opposed to wrapping it all.) By the time she got up and was running riot on her loot…I could barely lift my head off the pillow. And my sister got me this super soft (if obnoxiously bright pink leopard print blanket) that I didn’t want to leave. But I was awake, just unnmoving. “Oh, look what Santa brought you, how cool is that..Here, bring it to mom, I’ll rip it open…”

Tapped. Out.

The house is disgusting. Though the biggest issue is three vacuums, all with busted belts, so vacuuming hasn’t happened in two weeks and cat hair and tinsel are everywhere. The rest, I don’t care about. The floor…is actually disturbing me.
My horrorscope said it’s a day for rest and play, not work.
I don’t have the energy to do either. Thus far I’ve spent the morning watching crime documentaries, noshing on leftovers, and trying to get some motivation to function minimally. Shower, cat boxes, take out all the wrapping and packaging.
It’s not happening.
And I doubt the world will implode if I procrastinate further and just have a vegetable day.
On the plus side, I have a break as dad took my kid down to his family faction. I don’t attend anymore. Grandma has Alzheimers, my uncle’s new wife is an elitist snob, his autistic son gets violent…Two hours down there and I’d be home drinking bleach. And to my chagrin, it’s less about that whole mess than it is returning to the scene of the crime. That place where I grew up and went to school and was terrorized so mercilessly. I’m no longer the scared girl they terrorized, we’ve all grown up, moved on.
It’s an imprint on my psyche and soul, though, and given the chance to opt out…I take it. Just thinking about it is literally making me break out in itchy hives.
I’ve often wondered why post traumatic stress syndrome is relegate exclusively for war and sexual abuse survivors. Pain is pain, and being scarred by that pain is the same.
That whole period of my life where I was ostracized, tormented, and made to believe I am ugly, weird, and unworthy of drawing breath…
That was traumatic. The fact thinking about it can make me break out in hives is proof.
Does it make me weak?
I don’t think so. I survived it, I moved on.
But much like a leg injury that heals and yet still aches during certain seasons…Psychological pain isn’t any different.

Moving on…

I’m so worn down I haven’t even had the strength to open up my gifts. You open the fifteenth gift for a kid, you don’t want to face more packaging.
And I know I sound like a whiner.
But this is where my biggest struggles have always been. I can function semi normally when forced to…But the very things that energize others, socializing, activities, etc…Those are the things that deplete me and leave me needing recharged.
The battery’s drained, it’s gonna take some time to charge back up.

For now…I will just be grateful the stress is over, all worked out well, and 2015 is around the corner. Anything is possible. My mom’s biopsy may turn out to be nothing. Getting my home back all to myself (and my kid and cats) will be freeing. Saying goodbye to people I’ve outgrown for whatever reason, moving on with what I know is right for me without regard to social pressures to do the opposite…
Clean slate. Scary but also, a welcome change.
It’s been a tough year.

Not without highlights but tough nonetheless.

I am proud of myself. I do have my grinch on literally, my grinch t-shirt, and I feel a little surly…But in light of all that was handed to me at a time when I am usually falling apart…I could have disintegrated.
I didn’t.
I have persevered.
So in true Morgueticia fashion, I bid you…

Scary Cryptmas to all, and to all a good fright.

4 Responses to “Grinchmas”

  1. Poor you 😦

    Better without alcohol though.

  2. Sorry if it came off as a whiny “pity me” post.
    I was actually trying to get across the point that it was tough and it tapped me out like anytime I try to function too highly does…
    But I survived, I am still able to have gratitude…
    I still wouldn’t say no to some red velvet wine.
    What better way to get into the spirit (s) 😉

  3. Well take it easy, let the kid run wild and you can have a rest!

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