grinch

my favorite part of christmas is the quiet after the chaos. that moment when the people sober up and indulge the silence of completion before reinitiation. cheer verges on melancholy, the aftertaste of eggnog. like, this world where Jesus was born and died, is only one in myriad worlds and our presence here inconsequential. 

when you grow up and are forced to grow old and spend every christmas with a narcissistic abuser who doesn't believe in Jesus, that's what it feels like, every, single, day of the year.

they'll never not be mad at you, never try to sort things out. there is no going forward. there's only silent loathing, as if your presence makes them ill. if you're weak, it'll kill you. if you're not, and you just tell them to fuck all the way off and keep going about your business, they will disparage and convince others that you're the broken, misguided source of disrespect and you will lose every person you ever trusted. you'll have no more friends and no more desire to make new ones. 

but you won't be defeated, just placed on, what feels like, endless standby.