I really feel that this might be my last Christmas. I hope so.
I am just so tired of everything. I am getting too old for this.
I will be thirty-five next year and I am still single, still alone and still not sure what the hell I am doing here.
Christmas is a lonely period, I know that. If I only felt so bad at this time of year, then fine, I would just suck it up and get on with the motley. But no, I feel like this all the time and I cannot stand it much longer.
A friend suggested helping out the homeless at a soup kitchen as a way of not being alone. Which is a terrible suggestion. Spending time with people I’d cross the street if I saw them walking towards me? Nuh-uh. I am uncomfortable with the homeless at the best of times, so spending a day with my skin crawling does not sound like my idea of a good time.
Wow, I sound like a jackass, don’t I? I don’t hate the homeless but I feel so awkward around them. Hell, I would cross the road if someone who wasn’t homeless walked towards me. I am just not comfortable with other people regardless of where they live.
Anyway, feeding the homeless is out. Spending time with family perhaps? Only if I have a spade to dig them out of their graves. Friends? I don’t have any. Not ones that live near me at any rate. And even then, they wouldn’t want me near them.
Around this time of year, the Salvation Army show adverts on TV talking about how lonely old people are at this time of year. I find it hard to feel any sympathy when they won’t know the anguish of spending seventy-odd years alone. What about young people? Well, youngish people, ahem, after all the gem in the palm of my hand has gone black…
But this is all beyond the point. I can not, I will not, put up with this existence. Either something good will happen or something else. The good is as likely to happen as I am likely to grow an extra head. All I can see is badness and death. But it is alright. De nada.
I sent out dozens of Christmas cards and presents each year. I receive none back. It has been like this for the last fifteen or so years. A few friends have sent presents but it is like they are choosing gifts for someone they’ve never met. Now I ask people not to send presents. I’d rather have none than receive inappropriate gifts. Actually this is not true, I would rather have presents if they weren’t so generic. I know people say “it is the thought that counts” but no thought is put into them. Three years ago I received a bottle of whisky from a friend. I don’t drink alcohol and this friend knows this but…well. Quite.
The whisky isn’t a lone incident. I have received cigars (I don’t smoke), free skydiving lessons (from someone whom I had mentioned to that I would never skydive even if I were paid a million) for example. And it isn’t as if I keep my interests or hobbies a secret. I would have thought I would be the easiest person to buy a gift for. I don’t want expensive gifts, just ones that someone has chosen with me in mind rather than “that’ll do”.
I don’t need to ask people not to send cards, they seem to do that without my prompting. Although this year will be different. Cards from two exes, one which I can read (probably) and one which will be too painful to open the envelope. So yay me. Happy happy joy joy!
I am so alone in this suffering. No one really knows how bad I feel. Watching people enjoy themselves, get on with their lives and knowing, always knowing, that none of this is for me. I know that I will never feel the caress of a loved one or know the happiness that comes from being with a soulmate.
I have no idea why I am so broken. When I am with people, they seem to enjoy my company but as soon as I out the door, I think they forget me. I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t want to know/remember me either.
I pray god that it will be my last. Nous verrons.