I Don't Hate Christmas
I don't hate Christmas, really, I just hate the visceral jealousy that I suppress at stockings hung innocently in the homes of my friends. It's not that I hate Christmas, It's just the impulse I get to seclude myself on a mountain at the sight of city decor lighting up streets, homes, and stores. It's not Christmas' fault that I get the urge to cope with sweet oat nog and cookies so I can at least taste nostalgia, alone in my car, before regretting my sugar intake. I promise it's not Christmas it's just the constant chill down my spine whether from the cold or from bodily flashbacks that come with seeking physical closeness with others. It can't be Christmas that has me reliving all the times my mother threw my unwrapped gifts at me a couple days too early as she screamed slurs and insults in my direction. I love Christmas, I do, I just hate the fear of being left that my mother instilled by running away, having me believe it was forever, and wondering...