Secret: I hate the holidays. I have several reasons, including a desperate longing to see family that have long since gone Home, and the hopelessness that comes from doing the same things over and over and over and over every year with no expectation of it ever changing. One “Holiday” I’m just going to take off for about 3 months and rent a little cabin so close to Nowhere that Santa doesn’t have it in his GPS and I’ll decompress from all the expectations and just live a while and not watch in despair as humanity behaves at its “best” at the holidays.
And I’m not alone.
Depression is a strange beast. Its sufferers often cowering in a place of shame. Of loneliness. Of despair.
We hear ourselves. Our voices aching and crying out. We see the world around us, the laughter, hopes, joys of others.
Holidays for us are often the most difficult time of the year. When we are witness to a season of joy, our lifetime of pain is never in more stark contrast.
Often just to turn off the television, to get up from sleep, to answer a telephone is excruciating in the energy required. We scour the internet. We ask for advice. We desperately seek a way back to rejoin the human population. Gratitude, for we know that we should be happy to be alive. It would be a sin to entertain thoughts to the contrary.