“Missing you at Christmas”

There’s a song people sing in December or so, in my country anyway, and the lyrics, translated, go something like this:

I’m going to have a sad and lonely December, because I miss you
Though I try to force myself to be happy, I’ll be missing you at Christmas

Doesn’t matter where I go, I’m always looking over my shoulder, but there’s no one in the world like you
The strange thing is that there are so many people in the world who’d be better for me than you.

That’s roughly the first verse — it’s not a very long song, all things considered. Maybe it’s a little simple, too, and a little too pat: the singer’s not going to be with a loved one for the holidays, and will subsequently be sad at a time when everyone else is supposed to be full of cheer and good will.

I’ve always loved that song. It can be easy to sing, or you can make things complicated by adding all kinds of flourishes to the melody. And it’s literally been around for as long as I can remember, so I’ve been listening to it every year, and sometimes the cover versions are really heart-rending and sometimes they’re just — meh, you know, like recycled pop pap to cash in on something that inevitably comes true every year.

And this year, yeah, that song pretty much hits too close to home for me.

Especially since the last line of the song is actually:

The problem with Christmas is, this year you’re loving someone else

Um, yeah, hahaha, no.

And it’s such a cold December right now in my part of the world, with a very real promise of rain on the 24th itself, no thanks to what looks like some kind of tropical storm forming in local waters. How much more dreary can it get?

Why am I whining about this now? Why am I more affected by being alone at Christmas than on, say, my birthday? I have no idea. There’s a cold rage churning in my gut, to be sure, and a redoubled sense of being betrayed. There’s the simple lack of skin-to-skin contact. There’s the fact that I have to juggle complicated emotions — and not just mine, but others’ too — when I’m already feeling a little overwhelmed.

In short, welcome to the blues.

Not exactly unfamiliar territory, to be sure, but it’s just a different month, and one that’s fraught with too much surface happiness, so that it feels like an entirely new kind of pain.

It does sound like I should really take care of myself at this time. Self-care has to be the priority — well, it should be, at all times, but right now I need it more than ever.

I am grateful for a few things. I’m only bereft of a romantic partner at this time — I have friends, I have family. There are people in this world who care about what happens to me. I can write again, thank goodness. I can still be moved by stories.

Gotta remember that.

It’s okay to be tearing up.

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