The End is Also the Begining

The End is Also the Beginning

I count down the days as winter break approaches, not because I’m excited, but because I’m fearful. Soon I will be forced to take the trip down to Florida. It is a trip that will lead me right to my mother. I remember doing this last year, coming home more depressed then when I left. She always did that to me. Just hearing her voice set me on edge.

            Exams come and go, and as expected, I get a perfect 0.0 in calculus. But it doesn’t bother me anymore. So what if I fail one math class. I’ll just take it again when spring semester starts. My roommate is packing up, leaving two days before me to enjoy her own holiday. I sit hunched over my computer as she gathers her things, not really ignoring her, but not paying attention either.

            “My mom is almost here.” She says softly, just able to wake me from my zoned out space. I don’t need an explanation, I know what I have to do. I get up slowly, taking down the things her mother would condone her for. Vulgar cross stitches that hang all over my walls have to be hidden away from site. ‘Nerds F**k Harder’ is the first one down and I smile at it as I place it on my desk. The beautiful scrolling letters reminded me of old timey English men in pompous suits.

            The others come down, one at a time. Things like ‘Suck my Left One’ and ‘Every Boner is a Blessing’ all get piled up next to my laptop. When everything is down I gather them up, tucking them into a drawer where I know they’ll be safe. “All done.” I settle back into my chair, scrolling through my Tumblr dashboard blindly.

            “You’ll need to take off your collar too.” She reminds me, putting her laptop into a bag.

            I sigh, pulling off the little strip of leather that means everything to me. I tuck it behind my computer, refusing to hide it in the drawer with everything else. It’s too special for that kind of treatment.

            I don’t fully understand why I have to hide who I am in front of her mother. I know her mother expects better from her, but I’m the roommate. What I do has nothing to do with Tia in any way. But I go through the motions regardless.

 

          

Two days later I’m once again piling into my father’s car. I have a day with him before he has to take me to the airport. It’s not much, but it’s better than not seeing him. My stomach is tied in knots the entire day, and the day after as I pull on the white eyelet dress. I’m required to wear it so that I can sit in first class, mainly because I’m flying on employee passes from Mom’s new husband.

            The first flight is only fourty-five minutes, and when I’m off the place the new husband is there to greet me. I say a simple hello, refusing to have anything else to do with him. It’s not like he’s a terrible guy, but he existed before my mother’s second divorce was finalized and so the very idea of him makes my skin crawl.

            From there the two of us catch the two hour flight that takes us the rest of the way to Florida. We get to the gate and my mother is there with a sign. I roll my eyes, going up to hug her for the sake of appearances. One small slip up and I’ll be the bad child again, ridiculed and pushed aside. Right now I was still in good standing. I had come to see her when my sister refused. That was one thing that made me temporarily better.

            My fear of being with my mother turns out to be an accurate one. She doesn’t do anything to me, but being in the same house with her makes my depression worse. That night I don’t sleep at all. My nightmares come back full force and I’m too terrified to even attempt to sleep.

            When my mother comes in to wake me up the next morning I’m staring blankly at my computer. I can’t really make sense of what’s on the screen. “How long have you been up?” she beams at me with that smile that makes my skin crawl. I hate that she can be so happy when I’m suffering.

            “A while.” Is all I answer, looking up at her briefly. My screen becomes an excuse to ignore her.

            “I made breakfast.” She grins at me, way too excited about me actually showing up.

            “I’m not really hungry.” I mutter, setting my computer aside and getting up. “There’s coffee right?” The bags under my eyes make it clear to her why I want the caffeine riddled beverage.

            “Of course, it’s on the counter.” She moves from the door and I walk past her. The small apartment makes me feel trapped despite that fact that dorm room is a fourth of this size. I suspect it’s because I can’t get far enough away from her while I’m here.

            I wander to the kitchen, my movements slow and shaky. I pour in chocolate creamer before filling my mug with coffee, lifting up the cup to inhale the strong scent. I know if I lock myself in the room again she’ll just pester me, so I grab my currents cross stitch project and plop down on the couch.

            This same process repeats over and over again for almost a week. My mother begins to blare Christmas songs throughout the entire apartment. The more religious ones make me upset because I lost my faith months ago. I start to think about what Christmas really means instead of the strange holiday we’ve made it into. The idea festers in my mind for two days before I actually start to write it down.

            I lock myself in my bedroom with my fourth cup of coffee that day, the dark liquid only serving the purpose of keeping me awake so I can’t dream. My computer takes far too long to turn on. It’s laid across my lap, my knees together and my legs sprawled out so my feet are behind me. I’m hunched over, the very definition of uncomfortable, but to me it’s the perfect position. My blog comes to life in front of me and I type quickly, getting everything out before the idea runs from my mind.

 

 

Christmas Time is Here

December 22, 2012

 

Three more days until that little holiday where every little kid in a Christian, Catholic, and some Atheist families open up gifts and celebrate. Who doesn't love Christmas? There used to be a time I was a blind believer, celebrating Christmas because my mother told me it was the day Jesus was born. And that's great and all, to those that believe it's perfect to celebrate such a world changing event. But for the last few years I've fallen out of my faith. I understand there may be something or someone looking out for me. But was Jesus really the son of whatever God is is? Who am I to know? 

I am just another human being on this earth with no idea. And I won't know until I die and finally have the chance to find out. For all I know the pastafarians could be right and after death I'll be hanging with Ramen, the giant spaghetti monster in the sky. Looking at it, the holiday season is all about giving back to those that need it. Sure we all celebrate different ways: Christians celebrate with candles and trees, the Jewish people have Chanukah with lovely menorahs and eight days of gifts. You have Kwanzaa, Bodhi Day, the Pagan Yule, and Yalda. They're all different celebrations by different religions but they all boil down to the same thing. 

This time of year isn't about how religious you are, it's about giving back to those that need it. It's about celebrating with family and friends that you made it through one more year without mishap. It's about simply being together as a people, not just your family, but those people down the street you never talk to. We're all one big species on this Earth, yet we remain constantly in opposition of one another.  We prepare for a war that may never come simply because we want to be able to destroy anyone that comes for us. We commit hate crimes against Muslims, homosexuals, Blacks, Whites, and every other group you could imagine. We treat each other with hatred. It's no wonder so many are ready for the world to end. I almost wish it would so that everyone would be forced to finally look their mistakes in the eye and stop being so cruel. 

I'm not religious, but that doesn't mean I can't celebrate Christmas. I don't celebrate the birth of the son of God; I celebrate the birth of a man that got it. Jesus wanted us to love everyone, regardless of who they were socially or religiously. Jesus would have loved me even though I'm bisexual. He would have told me that my collar was alright by him. Jesus wouldn't have cared, because he understood what life is all about. It's not about proving you're better than everyone, or that everyone else is wrong. It's about finding those people that think differently than you and loving them anyway.

I celebrate this holiday because if Jesus were alive today I would have been right there to tell him thank you for paving the way for me to exist in this world. I would hug him and tell him that I'm glad there is finally someone that understands everything. I would want that man to know, that even though my belief is minimal, that I support him in everything he preaches. Love thy neighbor as thyself right? Yeah, I've read the book more times than I can count and it says a lot about how to treat those around you. So maybe all of you walking around with "God Hates 'blank'" signs should go back and read it again. Maybe everyone who claims to practice the religion should take the time to actually understand what they are reading. 

Maybe then I can have faith in something other than a made up story. Maybe, just maybe, the world will accept me and the rest of spectrum. Maybe blind Americans will stop hating Muslims because of a single extremist. Maybe those small sections of the Jewish community will stop their anger against the German people. Everyone should go back and read whatever book they claim to worship. Whether it be the bible or the Qur'an, the Torah or the Gospel of the Flying Spaghetti Monster. I'm sure you'll all find the same basic principle. Love everyone. So please, for the sake of those you love and those you've never met, take those few extra hours to fully understand what you worship. Stop blindly hating others for no reason other than a brief passage said it was wrong. You don't hate your child for being born deaf or blind do you?  Then why hate someone else for being born differently then you? A little extra time is all I ask, then maybe we can all finally understand what this holiday thing is all about.

 

Two days later my mother forces me into a car, insisting that I had to go to church with them. I sit with my arms crossed in the pew, staring ahead of me. I can’t bring myself to sing any of the hymns. I’m out of my element, cringing every time one of the priests walks down the aisle to address the congregation.

            They call for communion and I stay sitting as everyone around me rises and move towards the alter. The woman behind me tries to ask why I’m sitting down and I don’t have an answer so she moves on without another word.

            The service takes far too long and when it’s finally done I’m the first in the aisle, rushing for the door. I don’t hate religion, and I’m happy for those that have it, but being around worship for something I don’t really believe in always sets off my anxiety. My mother comes out of the building and frowns at me, clearly upset by my behavior.

            “I guess we won’t be coming to tomorrow’s service.” She comments coldly. I clench my fists, struggling to calm myself down. I want to yell at her, tell her it’s all her fault that I lost my faith. It’s because of her that I have no hope for a better tomorrow. She is the very reason why I can’t sleep. But I don’t say a word, fighting with her will only make it worse.

            Eventually my younger brother’s show up, all three of them coming a few days after Christmas. They are all younger than me, and none of them understand what I’m going through, but having them here eases the tension between Mother and me. My mother’s new step daughter is there finally from her mom’s, and I’m forced to share a room with her. The nine year old worships me and I want nothing to do with it. I will never accept these people as my family.

            The days tick by uneventfully. I’m up to six cups of coffee in a day instead of two. The food I’m offered only goes half eaten, sometimes even less. I spend increasingly more time hunched over my stitching hoop on the couch. I make small things for all of my friends, moving on to more complex project as I finish. It gives me something to distract myself from how much I hate being here.

            During the rare moments when I am off the couch I can see the imprint on the fabric from where I was. It disgusts me, I can’t believe I’ve let myself regress this far. But I don’t know what else to do. Retreating into myself is the only thing that protects me from the emotional damage caused by being around my mother.

            I stay that way until New Years. Over the course of the day before I slowly come out into the open, helping my mother plan the simple celebration. I actually manage to recreate my false smile briefly while we’re out. She doesn’t comment on my recent behavior. She doesn’t even seem to care that I’ve been completely ignoring her the entire time I’ve been in Florida. She has never let herself see just how depressed I really am.

            That night I’m curled on the couch with a glass of sparkling cider and a plate of pizza rolls I barely touch. The ball drops, my family cheers and I join them for a moment, calling my boyfriend so he knows I’m thinking about him. Then I lock myself in my room for another shaky night as I struggle not to fall asleep. When I hear my mother up and moving the next morning I go to get coffee. I settle in to write, rubbing my eyes every few minutes. I can barely focus, on the verge of passing out at every second. But I can’t let myself, the nightmares will only get worse if I let them set in.

            So I write. I write to distract myself. I write to stay awake. My most of all, I write to appease my monsters, even if only temporarily.

           

Happy New Year

January 1, 2013

 

At the end of every year we come together with our friends and family to celebrate that the New Year has come. It's a clean slate to begin again. We talk about the things we did in the past year and how we'll make them better. We make resolutions. A friend of mine has a theory that it is physically impossible to keep your New Year's Resolutions, so his is to die. He feels this will guarantee his survival for one more year. I personally couldn't think of just a few things. There are too many changes to my life I'd like to make. But if I really change, everything I've built towards will be destroyed.

 I want to finally get over this crippling depression that is the reason I didn't sleep last night. These attacks are getting out of hand and I know that eventually my health will suffer. I go through weeks at a time where I don't eat enough and lose tons of weight, then the depression fades and I go right back to my normal, average weight. But it's during these episodes that I write the most. The words that flow off my fingers in a depression are the words people consider actually decent. They are the words that the world will listen to. 

I want to be able to make friends where ever I go. But I'm shy at first, and when I finally come out of my shell I explode in a flurry of crazy that scares everyone off. And my friends love that about me. Or they've all at least learned to tolerate the crazy. I'm not quite sure which. 

I don't really understand the point of resolutions. And I know I'm not the only one. How many of us actually make the effort to keep them? How many people who say they'll finally fit into a size seven actually do by the end of the year? Do those people who want to stop swearing actually make the change in their vocabulary? Most of them try for a week then give up. Yet still they make these failed promises to themselves and those around them. I don't see the point. Maybe they just make us feel better about ourselves to say we promise, even though we really don't. 

I wish I could say that I really will work on my depression. I wish I could promise that I'll calm down around people so that they'll like me. But these little promises would only be lies to myself and there's no reason for me to even try. For now, I'll just be happy that the year is over and that the events to come will all be new.