The magic of christmas

For the past 6 years, Christmas has lost its magic for me. I know that sounds awful, and it feels awful to admit. However, part of the terms and conditions of my dad's child support is that I attend my dad's side of the family's holidays, which includes Christmas. And the night I always looked forward to, the driving to Fostoria and spending the evening at my grandma's, has become a burden and a painful reminder. Because when I was 9, we would drive to my grandma's house and spend Christmas Eve there and at about 9 o' clock we would change into our pajamas and on the drive home we would look at all the Christmas lights on Main Street and look for Santa, because every year a man would dress up as Santa and stand on Main Street and pass out candy canes. It was really, truly magical. Because I was with my family, and for one time in the year, my dad wasn't drinking and my parents weren't fighting, and my sisters weren't treating me like I was a second-class citizen.

When my parents first split up, I was fine, if not a little angry at my dad for leaving. But then the relationship between him and my mom dwindled away to a form of hatred, and 20 years of marriage and three children didn't mean anything. Both my parents started drinking again, and Kayla began to hate me for all the drama that came with my suicide attempts and my cutting, and Rachael got a boyfriend and had more important things to worry about. So I've been left a little bit on my own, and as much as I want it to go back to the way it was before my family split up, I know that it can't. I can't go back to waking up on Christmas morning in my house in Arlington. I can't look up on my wall and see where Rachael scratched the words "I love you" with red ink on my pink walls when she moved into a room of her own and I cried because, even 10 feets away, I'd miss her. I can't walk through the living room and feel my dad's hand against mine as he high-fived me on my way past. I can't go back to before my extended family knew about my sexuality, or before they knew about my gender, and I can't go back to them loving me and accepting me 100%. I can't go back to my former idea of my family.

So instead, for me, the magic lies in trying to figure out who my family is, year after year. I'll lay in bed and wonder, "Who can I count on?" Because I don't think that your family has to be your own flesh and blood. You know what they say, the blood of the covenant is thicker than water of the womb. And the real magic is that this year, I've finally been able to pinpoint who my family is.

It's my mom, who would come into my room every night before I fell asleep because the anti-depressants that I was taking had the side effect of crazy, surreal nightmares that left me scared to go to bed. It's Rachael, who, despite her own problems, always made time to make sure that I felt comfortable and safe, and never left out. It's Kayla, who even despite her anger at me, made sure I was okay. Because when I had stitches in my arms and I was too ashamed to show my mom what I did, she came over every day for two weeks to make sure I cleaned them and that they weren't infected. It's Austin, who despite the fact he slept with another girl, and despite the fact that most of my friends and family seem to hate him, still feels more like a brother to me than my biological brother ever did, because with Austin, we stay up until 3 am and talk about the things we're scared of and the things we love and hate and who we want to be and who we're scared to be. Despite being deaf, he's a really good listener. My family is my mom's boyfriend, Jon. And yes, I was reluctant at first, but he loves me and my mom and cares about us and treats us like my dad never did. It's Colton, my 7-year-old nephew, who one time asked me when a scar that he had on his finger would go away, and I explained to him that it wouldn't. He cried and cried and eventually asked me if my scars would ever go away. Of course, I told him that they wouldn't. He cheered up after that and told me that I was pretty cool and I had some scars, so just cause he had a scar didn't mean that he couldn't be cool. My family is my dogs. And you will make fun of me for it, but I love my dogs with all my heart and soul and they love me and I will never give them up. My family is my friends. Kaden, the first person I came out to in 5th grade. His response was, "That's cool." Tyson, who despite his dumb thoughts that always seem to find their way in trickling out his mouth, is always there with a good hug when I need it. Sophie, who for some reason has stayed friends with me, and who I wish I could protect from all in the world because she's too innocent and kind for corruption. Anna, who has never turned me away or belittled my problems, even when I was being a straight up baby. And all my other friends, who ask me what I want to be called, 

The magic of Christmas is that I have been an awful person. I have lied, and cheated, stolen, hurt myself, hurt others, took others for granted. I've been suspended like 4 times. I've been arrested. I've been hospitalized twice. All I have ever caused for people is a sense of prolonged pain and annoyance. And yet I still have this big ol' family that loves me and have been there for me when I need them. The magic of Christmas is that people still care. The magic of Christmas is that, even though some of the people I know have given up, others haven't, and knowing that I