So Christmas is over. There’s so much pressure to be happy, joyous and celebratory. I’m none of those and I feel guilty that I am not. There’s no law and there’s nobody wagging their finger at me. Perhaps that’s what bugs me the most, my self criticism. It is only right that we put on a happy face and wish each other Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. There’s no need to Bah, Humbug! It would be a sad world if everyone feel like me. Yet that’s how I feel. The thing is perhaps pretend and not to let it show. There is no gain in spoiling it for others.

I’m wallowing in my own misery. There’s no reason to not to feel and acknowledge what is inside of me. I like to think of it as self-care. No one else can truly know how I feel. I’m having a difficult time moving forward but I am putting one foot in front of the other every day. I am making progress though ever so slow. We’ve started the second year without my mother. Who knows how or how long a death affects a person. But it has changed me and my world. How, I am unable to articulate at this time. Perhaps it’s something to write about in January.

What bugs me is that I’m stuck in this space and time, wallowing. I used to look forward to the morning at bedtime. I couldn’t wait to start the day. Now, though I’m not dreading the day or anything, I like to lull in bed, wrapped in the warmth of the comforter and the darkness of the morning even though I am awake. When I do get up, I am surprised but not dismayed that it’s so late. I am bugged but I guess not bugged enough. I feel weighed down by some unknown force. Tomorrow is another day and next week it will be a new year. Hope on the horizon.