I’m dreading Christmas. While you could argue that I should treat it as just another day, it’s very difficult to do so when there are so many reminders that it isn’t. It is impossible to avoid hearing people talk about their Christmas plans, even if they’re distant conversations among strangers. Unless you avoid watching television, it’s almost impossible to avoid the Christmas commercials. When I was out with the people from the transgender group yesterday, one of them seemed very excited about Christmas:
“It’s Christmas in 8 days!”
So what? It’s great that he has people to spend the day with and can look forward to it. I wouldn’t wish my loneliness on anyone, but boy does it fucking hurt.
I spoke to my mum yesterday on the phone. She was telling me how my two younger brothers and their wives were there and they were having an early Christmas dinner. That made me feel sad, although had I been there, I’d have probably felt like a fucking loser, without a partner or a life.
I’ve never really cared that much for Christmas since childhood, But over the last five years, I’ve gone from not carom about it to outright dreading it. Christmas now represents a reminder of what I once had and what I’ll never have. It reminds me of what a fucking loser that I am. How at my age, I should have a family of my own and the chance to be a parent.
This Christmas is quite possibly going to be the worst Christmas of my life, just like 2016 has been the worst year of my life. Since it’s unlikely that a bed will be found at the local YWCA, I’m going to be spending it alone in this motel room, eating microwave meals and drugging myself with Seroquel so that I can at least flake out earlier than usual.
The last Christmas that was good was the Christmas of 2011. I was living in Beverly, Massachusetts with my ex-wife. That was the year that she’d found out that i wanted to be a woman, but I tried to re-bury it in order for us to stay together. Her mother came to stay with us that Christmas. She cooked a delicious Cuban style pork, complete with yuca, plantains, black beans and rice. It was probably the best Christmas dinner I’ve ever had. It was nice – just the three of us and the cats, Cleo and Hocus in our cozy apartment with hardwood floors. I still have pictures saved on my Facebook from my year in Massachusetts. It was supposed to be so different; we were supposed fo move there and start a family together. Talk about a missed opportunity that my transition ruined.