The darkness is here again. It’s gathering, crowding at the base of my throat, and if I look down for even a moment, I will drown. I think it’s my fault that it’s here this time; maybe I invited it by calling its name, and maybe I roll around in it a little; it’s comfortable and has room for self-deprecation and pity parties. Every year, it comes and slowly winds itself around me, squeezing until I’m gasping for air and blinded by its thick fog.
Ghosts of Christmases past and shards of broken dreams poke at my insides: the ghosts taunting with memories of what was and images of what could have been, and the dreams wailing, mourning their brokenness. I have felt the pain of two kinds of heartbreak: one from romantic misadventures, that feels as though someone is tap-dancing in sturdy shoes on the best part of your insides. Or like someone is messing with some controls in the upper left part of your anatomy. At least you know where to mend. The other one, is the pain of broken dreams; you’re shattered in so many pieces and scattered in so many directions that you don’t even know what or where to look after. Every year, hope comes to mend me, leaving less pieces than it found each time, and each time, life comes with its baseball bat right after and runs it through my dreams again, right in the middle.
But I won’t look down this time. I’ll keep my head above the darkness. I won’t look down.