Should I even allow you a view in this dark, secret place I have harbored for so long? Oh hell, why not. Let's add my own little dose of misery and self-pity to the world's pile of suffering, shall I? It's not like you are stopping me.

Take the season to be jolly and all. Usually I'm quite capable of spreading the joy and joining in the merriness, but this year is different. I suddenly remember why I hate the days full of false pretense, silly make-believes and the endless flow of superficial politeness. Yes, I wish you all the very best. Well fuck you too.

The 24th of December, some nice tradition to spend it with your family, spend an endless amount of money on gifts you could well do without and when everyone is sated and bellies are bloated, we walk home not even thinking about the things we should be grateful for.

The 25th of December is no better. And it is not about the food. The food is a deep rooted tradition I can understand, and admit it: what's better than seeing your loved ones enjoying the good things in life, as a promise for good things to come next year? No, it is not about that. It is, however, the fact that the so called Christmas spirit somehow forces everyone to forget about all things horrible we did to each other. This time of year is capable of making me feel the worst person in the world for not inviting a pitiful person over to the gigantic Christmas dinner at our home. It makes me feel like his wrong-doings are somehow also my responsibility, and that I should be the better one to just forget and have him over instead. But of course I didn't. I am not responsible for his misery, and I will never ever take that blame on me.

The 26th of December is that dreadful aftermath, when you know that this will all be over soon, yet still have to manage to get through one more day. So you try to make the best of it. A slow setting sun casts a mild golden glow over the world as the first signs of frosts set in. Every day has the promise of more light in it, but still it doesn't improve the melodramatic feel of this midwinter day. I already know that he's drunk. Partially from his own bad memories, partially from the liquor he pours himself to generously on days like this. But still, let's pay a visit.

Memories all come back to live in those moments. And at times like that, I understand very well why it's easier to 'dwell on things dark'. When you can drown yourself in the not-so-fluff 'n happy- things in life, all misery is good. It just all adds up to the atmosphere you are setting for yourself, you're never out of character. And if you occasionally do feel happy, well than yay you. Nothing wrong with that either, the strong contrast just makes it the merrier than it already was. But if you try to stay on the happy foot of life all the time, it's easier to get disappointed. It's easier to let people hurt you. And when things do get wrong, they seem to kick in twice as hard as they would've done of you haven't felt so fucking joy and cheerful. You get my point?

I forgot how that felt. I truly forgot how it felt to be in that state of mind, which might count for a good thing in my life. But now I do remember, and I don't think I want to go back to a constant happy state of mind. It's fine like this. I keep the ones I love close to me, and I damn well realize that the ones that truly matter, are no more than a handful. The rest is nice to have for a period of time, but we're merely travelers for some period of time. We walk the same direction for a while, until we merrily part ways, or something like that. And sometimes you get friends you can keep for a bit longer, and sometimes you don't.

But as for now, it felt really good to let this finally out. Because silently, I think I really DO hate Christmas and everything around it. It just too me quite some time to admit it, even to myself.

Oh is it that time of the year already? I so bet it is. I can still remember this moment, year after year after year. Summer dies a slow death, slashing rain creates currents that wash away memories of spring, summer en harvest fruits. The fruits we did not harvest this year, are left there to rot in sweet misery. The first signs of fall approach; yellow colored Linden leaves that slowly create their own little chaos around every bend. But what really pleases me the most, is the heavy, sweet scent of rotting vegetation all around me.

This all has its own effect on me. It makes me want to cut my hair, dye it black, scream some ancient song and dance my silly way through the fall madness that is about to come. The veils grow thinner, I can almost see through them...

Don't you just love this time of the year?

"Let's start over," is what he said to me.

All nice and dandy, but I can't remember the moment we actually started, ever. Perhaps I'd better start here, where this journal begins as well. Don't worry, the stories you're gonna read are fictional. I'm merely a fictional character, in a fictional world. But hey, don't all things great start in the mind, somewhere? I can't promise that this will be great, but we'll see where this roller coaster gets us, okay? Right now I just need to write; allow my fingers to wreck the keys on my dated laptop. I need to indulge myself in hidden fantasies, live my life the fantastical way.

I could go on and on about the things that we like to call our 'daily life', but let's not. Let's just start over. Like that one time, when I met this guy with whom I actually fell dreadfully in love with...

I believe I was still a slightly naive eighteen year-old. I remember certain situations very well, I bet they will be imprinted in my mind forever. Just like those icky photographs your mom picks out because 'you look so cute on those!', with you're poofy eighties hair and over sized blue rimmed glasses. Yep, that was me in those days. But when I turned eighteen, I felt invincible. I could deal with the world, including the lame bastards of men that come with it. Men... I should rather call them boys, since they aren't mentally developed to be called a man anyway.

Eighteen I was, and that's when I met him. Your typical prototype of handsome. Tall, dark, slightly shy and full of good humor. Sounds nice eh? I wish things stayed that nice. We had a wild couple of weeks. After our first rendez vous at the dark pub, we started bumping into each other on a regular basis. We talked, had a couple of drinks, heck, we even laughed together. He came on to me, and I wasn't sure if I liked it at first. No matter, I didn't have to decide right there and then. So we had a couple more drinks, laughed a bit together like we always did, and each went our own way. I lived a fairly happy and stable life up till the day when I met him for the very last time.

It was a New Year's Eve like any other. Sullen and boring, spending the last couple of hours with your family until everyone had their fill and went home, drunk as they always get in the holiday season. I went to the pub as usual, took a seat at the bar and had my drink. Every now and then I scanned the room for any sign of my secret crush, because in the meantime my hesitant affection had grown into a serious crush. I almost gave up hope, when right before 3 o'clock in the morning I spotted his cheerful brown eyes at the entrance. Our eyes met, he came over and kissed me. Right then and there, full on the lips. We kissed, for what seemed to be ages in those fickle moments of time.

Time swept past as we clutched on to each other as you usually do at that age. Finally we broke apart, smiling at each other with all the sappiness you can picture. Are you still with me? Good. He moved closer, brushed his lips against my neck and ear and forced his breath into a weak whisper. I smiled, got off my chair and beckoned that I'd be back soon, after I had my little stop at the ladies room.

The door created a nice, muted barrier between the musty bar-stench and the cheerful noise on the other side. I splashed my face with cold water, trying to clear the ghosts in my head that usually appear when you almost skipped a night's sleep. It was no good, obviously, but the new rush of excitement kept me aware of the current situation. I stepped outside, trying to navigate my way back to the place where I last saw him. Clutching my wannabe-purse as I moved over, a sudden shock chilled my head immediately. As the blood rushed back into my ears, I realized that he was gone. The bar stool he left to be his was already taken by some giggly blond in a horrible pair of skinny jeans, but no other sign of the boy that just blew my mind with a simple kiss.

All there was left was the faint echo of his words in my ear.

"Let's start over."

Yes, let's.

Credits for Sweeney Todd LJ icons:

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