My grandma passed away on Boxing Day six years ago.
No one told me the news, even though she was the only one who raised me when I was a child. The way I found out was cruel in its offhandedness, the memory loops around in my head every year when the season comes around.
It hurts, so much so that I sometimes want to claw my chest out and rip my heart to pieces so the pain can stop.
It was the last time I celebrated a Christmas or New Year.
There are blocks of days in a year that are blacked out in my mind. These are days where I know I can’t function. I can't avoid the nightmares, I still mourn.
Sometimes I wonder if it will only end when the entire year is dipped in black, because then I would have no choice but to accept those days as the new norm and live.
Maybe I hold on to too much, maybe I am not as strong as others, maybe I can never become a person who doesn’t cry on days close to the death anniversaries of people I knew and cared about. But I think that's okay. It's a part of me, and has made me into who I am today.
Festive seasons make it hard to talk about pain. If you are hurting inside, you are not alone.