Ever and anon, a chill wind of December would pass by. For most people, the very coldness of the breeze of the Yuletide season thrills their enthusiasm, making them feel like a bunch of overexcited toddlers, who stay up all night trying to catch old fat Santa Claus sneaking down their chimneys and placing their much desired gifts under the splendidly decorated Christmas tree.But to me, it only adds up to the frigidity which envelops the dying embers of my soul.
The number of people rushing to and from gift shops and shopping malls, greeting each other and looking like they’ve never been happier causes me great wonder and bitterness. Because I know I will never be a part of it. I feel like the whole season just asks too much of me.What else can i possibly share? Everything was sucked out from me by a series of unfortunate events.
I am broken. I am a grinch…
It’s been seven months and four days since I had one of my greatest grief and until now, I still spend three quarters of my day lying like a dead thing in my bed, staring blankly at the gloomy and forlorn ceiling of my accursed room. I still wish I could’ve just died that day and save myself from all the torments of the days, months and years after that dreadful moment of downfall. But I’m almost dead anyway. Since then, I’ve never felt fully alive. When I look at the mirror, a sickening sight goggles at me- a pair of moribund eyes, a being so utterly wretched and forlorn, looking almost like a wraith, a pitiful and disgusting creature lurking in a pitch dark and empty despair, unable to find peace and solace ever in life again…
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