The holidays are supposed to be a time of magic, wonder, vacations, and fun. Some time ago they began to mean something else: it meant hiding who I was to spend time with the family. It meant confronting all the things i'd spent a year avoiding. All the stress, anxiety, anger culminated to its pinnacle over a couple weeks of almost wrenching internal trauma.
Did I grow up according to plan?
Over the years I've lessened the amount I hide when I'm around the fam. I'm not "out there", per se. I don't pretend to be straight. I don't lie, but I don't really tell the truth either. I've told myself for years: it doesn't matter. Why should it? It's my life. But it does matter, as much as I don't want it to. Just like the 8-year old boy getting off the bus wanted his parents to be excited about the award he got rather than just expect it.
I can't pretend that I'm all right.
It's the time of year I'm reminded that I'm different, at every turn. That I'm not going to go to Christmas dinner with my girlfriend/fiancé ever... ever. That I'll always wonder if I'm just this huge disappointment and embarrassment to my family. I always felt out of place anyway, I guess.
I can't be perfect.