Merry Christmas

To anyone who feels like their longings and griefs, their guts and heart, are constantly spilling out all over the floor, too strong to repress and obvious to anyone who looks at them. To anyone broken-hearted and looking at pictures of more beautiful days. To anyone terrified of the time that has passed and even more terrified of the time that lies ahead. I’m not sure where I am now as compared to all of those other versions of myself who have survived and loved, but I do know I’m still here and it’s Christmas Eve and I love my father for setting up a humidifier in the bedroom because I have a cold.

I’ve written about time before, and the past, and how the concept of time passing is innately heartbreaking to me–that something is lost, inevitably, through a process that is irrevocable and unpreventable. I think this comes up more strongly at Christmas, at least for me. As Judy Garland sang, I’ve been muddling through for so many Christmases and gone to bed teary-eyed so many Christmas Eves, and I’ve realized it’s impossible to properly appreciate what you have before it’s gone, because you can’t anticipate the sharp yelping pain it will cause you by its absence.

Love who you love and write to me if that love is washing over other aspects of your life, making it difficult to move, breathe, think.

Merry Christmas to your past and present selves.

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I'm a former student of English literature, an editor and a creative writer who has been attempting to live with body dysmorphic disorder as well as severe anxiety and a recent diagnosis of Bipolar II. I believe that struggles with mental health are often lifelong and people in these situations need comfort, support and occasional moments of peace granted to them in order to survive.

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