Dear Santa

25 Dec

Dear Santa,

This is the third time you’ve heard from me, and I’m sorry for that. Sometimes you have to keep dreaming, you know? Maybe this year will be different and I’ll have some grand epiphany when I seal this letter up and send it up to you, wherever you may be. I apologize, Santa: this letter is a bit all over the place, but I just needed to get it out to you as soon as it came to mind.

I’m so very lonely, Santa. Locked inside this prison that’s supposed to be ‘home.’ For so many years I have longed for a Christmas as I wrote to you two years ago. A Christmas tree. Stockings. Cookies. Music. That magic that is there whenever you plug the lights in and stare at the tree, mesmerized as tinsel reflects the colours along the wall. There’s a magic to Christmas I have only dreamed of, and there’s a magic in me that’s dying.

For the first time in so many years I haven’t listened to Christmas carols—I just haven’t had the heart to turn on the radio to the station that plays only Christmas songs. I’ve been consumed in a whirlwind of trying to keep my head above water in my studies and to keep land in sight. Now that I’m home, Santa, it seems I’m just wandering deeper and deeper out to sea. The darkness here is worse than ever before: there is no sunshine, there is no moonlight. ‘Home’ is being surrounded by alcoholism, screaming, emotional abuse. ‘Home’ is hearing my father repeatedly call his wife a bitch and be told to do physical things around the house when you get discharged from the emergency room in excruciating pain and needing surgery. ‘Home’ is a place without love or happiness. It’s a black hole that sucks the life out of me every moment I’m in it. I have no spirit to even put up what few little decorations I have personally, to wear my silly elf hat with the jingly bells. I don’t even want to bake Christmas cookies, and baking is my passion.

I’ve lost that spark, Santa—I’m starting to give up. There’s nothing I fear more than turning into my father and resenting Christmas. Being the epitome of Scrooge… but as the years pass, the sadness and the hurt just makes me hate the season more. Tis the season for festivities for some. Tis the season of darkness and sadness for others.

What hurts worst of all, Santa, is that the only people who have ever made me feel like I mean something, the only people that say they love me and I know mean it, live so very, very far away. It’s not about the presents, Santa, but I have one present all wrapped up and given to me weeks before Christmas. It’s hidden in a drawer, buried under bathing suits and other miscellaneous things so it can’t be found by my father. On Christmas day I will hide away in my room and gingerly unwrap it with tears in my eyes because I didn’t want to ruin the only present I’ll have to unwrap by unwrapping it early. Even if it’s the silliest, smallest thing in the world, it’s my one chance to unwrap something from someone that cares about me. That I care about. It’s my one opportunity to feel the paper beneath my fingers, slide my finger under the tape, and know that someone thought about me enough to go through the effort to get me something. To make me feel special even though they didn’t have to. The people that gave it to me, Santa, are some of the most loving, giving and generous people I am privileged to know. They are now, in the less than a year that I’ve known them, the best Christmas present of all. They listen, provide hugs and are there for me in ways I would never expect anyone to be. They’re my friends, and I love them, and I am so unbelievably blessed to have them in my life. For once, I can say I truly have friends. I’d give anything to have them closer to me, Santa. To magically appear on their doorstep or them on mine.

Maybe someday, Santa, I’ll be able to have that special Christmas with sugarplum fairies and reindeer. Remember me though, okay? Save me a rain check for a few years in the future to give me my Christmas spirit back and let me have that Christmas of childhood dreams with good company. With friends—the only ‘family’ that really matters. The only ‘family’ I need.

I’ll be waiting.

Love,
Maybe the Third Time’s the Charm?

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