The last few days have been a vacuum of terribleness. The end result is a day of pain. I know it'll be over, soon. I'll be fresh out of the horrible ideas and feelings soon. Maybe it'll be replaced with the sense of wonder I had for the season as a kid. Stranger things have happened.
The description I find best fitting for the last week is to compare it to when you're driving in the middle of the night, through something like Kansas or Indiana. There are no lights, the stars aren't bright enough in the sky, and even the moon hypnotizes you. There are no rest areas or exits for another good 25 miles, and you have to try to stay awake. If you know that fight, you can somewhat empathize with the struggle through depression that wanders into suicidal ideation. No matter how you try, your eyes just keep trying to close. Your brain is crying to be taken out of consciousness. It physically hurts.
Imagine that for a week or more.
That's close. No metaphor bears close examination, though.
I did the dirty work of making myself get through it. Let's hope it lasts.
Now, I need to get through the physical torture of the next day. I will be rearranging the living room, getting some garland and new lights. I'll try to warm up the feel of my cold living room. Solstice and Yule will never quite leave my heart. Christmas with all its stories of lost souls finding their way to the light must have dug in deeper than my mom's refusal to let me go to church. Take away the layers of fiction, and the message under it all must have stuck.
I don't care for snow and ice. Luckily that is an unusual thing here, at Christmas. I'll take the small drop in temperatures that haven't hit freezing, the decorations, the songs, and such, though. Maybe the memory of comfort will win the day.
First, I have to get through this week.
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