Leave me alone, I'm lonely.

Christmas.

Maybe it's just the holidays that bring out the absolute worst in me. And by that, I don't mean I am particularly rude or spiteful. What I mean is that the holidays tend to bring out everything in me I particularly dislike. The loneliness, insecurity, hopelessness. Every feeling that rots my insides, leaving me cold and hollow and so damn tired come in for a visit. By Christmas, I am absolute nothingness.

Maybe it's accelerated this year because of the ulcers and stress and insomnia I've faced for a long, long time. Maybe it's because I watched Requiem For a Dream and have since felt like any and every good feeling have been clawed out of me like a wire hanger abortion. I don't know, I really don't. Maybe it's because as my four year old cousin screams and runs about and watched her Christmas cartoons, I sit and read Fight Club and realize the truth of everything. That I am nothing. According to Tyler Durden,

You are the same decaying organic matter as everyone else, and we are all part of the same compost pile.

And it's true. It's true. It's so fucking true Socrates couldn't argue against it. So I sit here, and Lexi sits on the floor taping up her notebook so she can rip the shiny, silvery paper off and imagine it's Christmas already. I think she just wants to scream some more. I think my head is going to explode. It's throbbing, white hot pain building up. All of this Christmas cheer goes straight to my head. Maybe I should just go take another nap, sleep for twelve, thirteen more hours. I don't know. Whatever it takes. I just want to feel alright. I just want to feel better. I just want to be loved.