I Hate Holidays
I had a bad dream. I woke up. I want to tell somebody all about it. I roll over and my dog is fast asleep. I’m alone.
Images of the year flash through my head. First dates. Blind dates. Flings. Random hookups. They all went nowhere.
There’s no one I can talk to.
My father is dead.
My aunt is dead.
My brother hates me.
I’m alone in my bed. Alone in life. Alone in the world.
It burns beneath my skin. I tear at my arms with my fingernails.
My brain is splitting in two. I feel it breaking.
I know where this is taking me. I don’t want to go back.
I can’t stop it. It hits.
Five years ago. My aunt dies from cancer. It’s like my father died all over again. I quit my job. Quit business school. Grow a beard. It rains for 30 days straight. I’m depressed. I’m walking my dog, a dead pigeon falls out of the sky and lands on me. My brain splits in two.
It took a year to recover. A year to regain my confidence. A year to realize that my life wasn’t a waste.
I feel my brain splitting again. I know where this leads. I can’t go back.
Breathe. It will be okay. You’re not the same person. You have friends. A job. People who love you. You’re not alone. Breathe. It will be okay. This will pass.
I fall back to sleep.
I hate holidays.
