I noticed a post from an acquaintance expressing they were thankful for feeling like a kid again. I’ve also noticed how this is not a sensation I experience any longer, and thankfully so. I would not enjoy the feeling of confusion and desperation I felt as a child. Then, moving into the double digits and teens, the self loathing begins. No, it is safe to say that I embrace adulthood and have no wish to revisit my childhood. My saying in this regard is, “everyday away from sixteen is a better day.” I am full of joy this morning making this one of those better days since.
Being “full of joy” though doesn’t mean that there isn’t darkness in me. Even on Christmas morning with a five-year old, mother, and sister here, loneliness is what fills me. I woke at a little after 05:00 consumed. All my dreams were haunts from Christmas past. Living the joy of knowing my love wakes with me, only to come out of the mist alone; this life of lies existing exclusively in my unconscious mind, and the whispers of “I love you” are made to the pillow I clutch for dear life. I suppose that’s depression for you. Overwhelming sadness on a morning when nothing but joy should be in my minds eye. This is not to say that I am not grateful for all my fortunes. Overwhelmed. Yet, when it comes to my own heart there is an emptiness that I long to be filled. At least I know I am not alone.
Every single person out there with similar ambitions of having a family of there own, who has been crushed by the desires, decisions, and selfishness of others is going through what I am right now: sitting on the edge of a bed, tears falling like cold rain to a floor which is already saturated with sadness. That feeling of wanting to tell the person who turned away exactly how sad I am, but understanding that would be selfish in turn, to put that sadness on them. They are, hopefully, perfectly happy to lead life apart, and thus being the bigger person means letting them have their happiness. Knowing this particular type of sadness is just for us—the lonely. I envy all those who have lost the person that makes them feel the most lonely. I don’t envy their loss, but at least that sadness is without help or hope. Moving forward comes more slowly with finality, but leaves a closed wound which can heal if properly tended. The pain of knowing that someone chooses to not be with you (this hurts a lot as one of my old sayings to her is that I am “actively lovemaking”), especially for when they didn’t even want to stay for the best, healthiest part of being you, that is an open wound which I reapply duct tape, super glue, staples, and sutures to daily. Part of the “healthy” lifestyle I now lead is tending to this constant insult of the heart. I am not being insulted by anybody in particular.
I don’t want to give the impression I am mad at, or upset with anyone. This would be a misunderstanding. The insult comes from the very nature of a deep love which is being denied.
And while I do think it is immoral that the two of us are not together. Things were said, efforts put in, and life embraced, for which are now my responsibility to answer. Takes two to tango huh, this doesn’t seem to add up to those of us forced to dance alone. Every time that beautiful, sad face looks at me and says “I miss…,” I know what that really means. It means, why isn’t that person who said they would be here here. I always shoot back the same old answer I’ve had to tell her of every woman who did this to her (x3), “It just you and me, baby. People have to go do there own thing, but you and I will have to be there for each other.” Years of saying this always ends with saturating that spot along side my bed for a few days after, as the pain I feel at the end of those days renders me breathless.
My upbringing tells me that I shouldn’t feel this way, that I should, “be a man” and “get over it.” Not interested. Trying to be a man is what got me in this predicament. Delaying finding help before the best and most powerful of all my loves had been strangled by my nature is my only living regret.
And back to the point earlier, that the intentional rejection of my feelings, a mindset of “I don’t want to try with you and your daughter,” is brutal and immoral. Like someone else could be “better” than Ivy and I, they will be different, but the rewards of a lifetime commitment from the two hearts which live under this roof will transcend a solstice holiday tradition, and to someone, wise enough to embrace the most difficult of times, it will be Christmas everyday.
So for all of you that have your loves next to you this holiday morning, please, please don’t take a second of it for granted. Know that those of us who would do the same but cannot are trying to smile when we visit you. And if we are smiling, please know how much effort it takes—it is your gift.
Which brings me full circle. Not everyone who is without a partner this morning is sad about it. Some folks don’t have the same family ambitions that I do. I don’t envy that feeling as the notion of family brings with it a deep fulfillment. I have a hope that my dreams will come true, pronoia at its best. And as an attempt to keep moving forward, to place among all my other forthcoming successes, I give myself a little gift of manageable verbiage. “Everyday away from thirty-seven is a better day.” I like it. It reminds me that the worst of myself is behind me, and that any part I had to play in my own sadness is in the rear view. For all of you that have the family you seek, sincere congratulations for the warmth in your heart, and for those of you who have, like me, cried much already, please be kind to yourself today. After all, you never know what day Christmas may come to your heart, and it is best to be jolly on Christmas, no matter what day that is.