I cheerfully did my duties, or rather the Christmas elf did. And Santa did his as well. He’s a good man, that Santa, at least as good as the Christmas elf if not much more so.
The Christmas elf finished tagging presents and Instagramming tipsy craft photos and then sat drinking wine and reading. Still a bit wondering if she was high-functioning alcoholic rather than just tending toward obsessive (as previously self-diagnosed). But not really caring that much if she were, since if she were, it was a very mild form of alcoholism that didn’t seem to be doing any harm but rather only supporting her very merry Christmas present-wrapping activities.
Notes from the Christmas elf
Last night I was feeling the emptiness and the yearning, everyone was in bed and I wanted more. Connection that is. The bottle was empty. I’d started at 19:30 and now it was — just checked photos — oh. It was only 22:55 and there is that picture of my empty glass on RED. That means I’d drunk a bottle of bubbly in less than 3 hours. Yes I guess I did keep cheerfully pouring…
Then I opened the box of red. After finishing putting the presents under the tree and trying to connect with people on Instagram (my old friends at least, that’s something. Well also A., oh dear, I sent her G.’s link about mourning loved ones at Christmas… shit… oh well. I guess if she hates me now that’s fine. Fuck. Why do I keep going online? Because I crave companionship… with more people than just Santa and the reindeer. I crave friendship, sisterhood, and I do care. I really do care.
Anyway I sat drinking more red wine from the box and I stopped Instagramming thank god and I read about 15% of The Ice Castle and I screen-shotted the parts that moved me emotionally so I could write about them later. (Just checked photos app — there are 64 screenshots. Guess I was emotionally moved by every paragraph.)
And I thought, my god this could have been ——’s life. Except that instead of having two parents and usually living in a house that the parents owned, he had one parent and they were truly homeless.
Like what he has done with his life is insane. It goes to show that the hardest lives can build the most successful people. But also that someone always has it harder than someone else. The author of this book had it hard… but I think —— had it harder.
So what’s my problem? I’d say my problem is that I feel guilt and shame for my feelings. I have “it all” and yet I feel I don’t have enough, in terms of connection. So I go seeking connection. I seek it in wine, I seek it in social media, I seek it in writing….
Wait, but that last one is a good thing. I know it is because I always feel good after writing. Somehow I have gotten through depression, OCD issues and everything else, without pills nor doctors (out of necessity, mainly, here in the zone of emptiness)… and that was thanks to writing.
So what if I were, instead of seeking connection through drinking and social media, both of which make me feel some shame the next day, no matter how mild — what if I were to seek it even more through writing and art instead?
I know why I don’t. Santa gets jealous of my time and snarky when I use my devices. Even if I use them for writing or creating. There we have it.
He wants me to sit there on the sofa with him when he’s finished his long work day, and he is drinking beer (although, truth be told, much more casually than I drink wine, most of the time), and so I drink too (but more thirstily, like the fish I am, if/when I get started) to be able to bear the loneliness of sitting for long periods of time with another magical human being who mostly only reminisces about old times, or talking about beer and boobs or other random commonalities.
I’m making it sound bad. It’s not that bad. It’s really not that bad… but that is what “old friend” (including magical-life-partner) interaction comes down to, doesn’t it? It’s so rare that with old friends we can talk about new things.
Does anyone else have that?
Shit I just started writing for an audience in that last paragraph. Yes I had the fleeting thought, what if I posted this on WordPress?
The other day I decided I should stop posting depressing-shit-related posts on WordPress. The reason was that I’d been reading SOGR and it was like a balm for my soul and I felt enlivened and SOGR touts not associating yourself with depressing shit and that made sense to me and besides, I want to get some kind of real employment instead of working for free all the time and who the hell is going to hire someone who tells the truth online?
Am I right?
Ah fuck it. The truth is also a balm for the soul. Perhaps for more souls than just mine.
Love xo The Christmas Elf
Yes I just pictured myself publishing that.
But that would seem to be going backwards.
I’m always going backwards. Forwards and then backwards again. Up and then down.
However, I like to think that I am getting closer all the time to the summit. To real connection, that is.