Christmas Wishes for Existential Things

I want my skin to be thick enough for nothing to hurt. 

If only my heart was full enough that it no longer ached when I think of what was, what could have been, what is ending. I wish that my armor could shield me from the pain, the twisting arrow, the thoughts that I can't stop thinking.

I wish that I did not care, that his ghost did not have the power to make me feel so broken.
I want to forget the bad and forget the good.
I want to stop loving someone who doesn't deserve my love.
I want to go back and change my fate, my decisions, my trusting heart that told me to lay it all out for a person that would take it all and then walk away.

I want to be as carefree and happy as he seems, instead of worrying that people will discount me for my story.
I want to believe that all is well and all shall be well.
I want to be stronger than the mess.

But here is the truth:

There is no strength that could keep this from penetrating my defenses.

My heart is bound to beat with sadness and anticipation. It is bound to be weary and it will take time to heal. Though I scarcely believe it, I know that my heart is strong because even though it sits raw and vulnerable, it continues to defy the brokenness that overwhelms it.

No, this Christmas season is not full of joy for me. It is the anticipation of an ending that I did not want and that I still wish I could wake from. It is for me a season of sadness and frustration, anxiety and pain.

Because I still don't want this.
After everything that has happened, I still wish that it was different.

And though I know (and so often preach) about the silver linings and positive twists and blessings, sometimes I just want to be ok in not being ok. I want to sit with the frustration that God allowed this to happen at all, to be mad that I wasn't protected from this, that there wasn't some sign in the sky that told me what was coming and to back away.

I want to sit and not have to talk about the silver lining or the blessings. And maybe I want to throw something. Although it will probably be soft and I can't actually throw very well so it won't have much impact. But I will throw something nevertheless.

Because overcoming is about the mountain, but also about the rocks and hills along the trek. It is overcoming the hours and overcoming the months. It is feeling all the feels and being pissed that you can't just shove them down and ignore them. Overcoming involves a lot of being pissed I think. And snacks. Overcoming is worthless if there aren't any snacks.

So as much as I hate the stupid process of healing and time, there is no escaping it. I know, reluctantly and with an attitude, that eventually I will summit the mountain, feel the fresh air whipping over my face, and realize that I am stronger than I believed and happier than I ever thought I could be again.

But until then, I will have to make do with some pringles.

Maybe I'll even throw a few. 

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