While a white-knuckled grip is acceptable (if kept under the table or
in sturdier coat pockets), clinching your eyes shut and speed-murmuring prayers
out loud into a festive lot of family members is not.
More’s the pity, because I am rather good at that.
Surviving the holidays with the Ghost of Clinical Crazy hanging like an
albatross around your neck is not easy, neither, alas, is it pretty… which is
all to say that I am a quite terrible guest.
Do not invite me to your Christmas shindigs.
Do not set a place for me at your Christmas table.
While the spirit would be oh-so willing and ever-so jolly, the mind
would be a rather nasty Grinch spreading nothing but discomfort and ill-at-ease
to one and all.
Mental illness, a supposedly “silent” disease, is never so loud and
outwardly damning than in the Christmas season.
Small, immovable truth, that.
Until tomorrow…
Chloe
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