It's just a holiday.

  It's just a holiday. It's just an event. 

I've been trying to tell myself that all day long, but it's not true. It's cookies I didn't get to bake, and family I didn't get to see. It's dressing up, and walking around the house listening to music that matched the occasion. It's stories that I didn't get to tell the kids, and crafts I didn't get to make. It's dinner I missed, and pictures I won't be in. It's an empty seat at the dinner table with everyone asking where I am. It's dancing and cleaning the kitchen together, and having drinks after the grandparents leave. It never was all roses and sunshine, and more often than not the day was mostly full of fights. It was never only good, but the good was there enough, and so was tradition. Even if it wasn't perfect, it was family, and it was what I was used to. It was home, even though it never quite felt safe, or comfortable. 

   The holidays weren't great, but it was a reason to smile, or at least try to. My family hasn't every really loved me in a grand or even healthy way, but they did show up, and bring food, and games. We put everything that hurt, on the back burner and we just loved each other for a while. It may have been toxic, and there may have been many pairs of rose-colored glasses worn, but it was enough. Those few hours where we pretended everything was okay, made it better. It was a break from all the pain and hurt, it went in a little box, and we all collectively left that box outside for the day. I think that's what I missed, the love. Even if it was fake, or came with stipulations, it was enough. Even if I had to pretend I liked boys, or not bring up how mama gets after one too many, it was enough. 

   Enough to make me miss it, and spend the day consumed with making other people feel better, enough to make me put it in a box and wait till midnight to feel it. When I'm half-drunk, and definitely stoned, and outside by myself, I know I'll feel it. The box is slowly being pushed to the front of my mind, and by midnight the box will be open and all my feelings will be chucked around the ground in front of me. My silent tears, and my mama's favorite songs will be the only thing coating my ears. My face will be red and swollen from tears and alcohol, and my throat will be sore from trying to keep quiet. When all I want to do is scream. 

   I want to ask God why, and fight with him, and tell him how unfair it is. How unfair that all I do is worry about them, and wonder. How unfair it is that they continue on with their lives while I've got nothing but a bag and a laptop. How unfair it is that they got to eat a feast and dance and love one another. How unfair it is that they're angry with me and how I know I was the topic of conversation there. How unfair it is that not once have they asked me if I'm alright. How unfair it is that my feelings come last. I could really keep going, but it's a rabbit hole I've been trying not to fall back into. Because really, it's just a holiday, and it's just an event.