"Happy" Holidays

As a bipolar guy, I hate having to deal with my two extreme aspects.  I especially hate the one I am now...  the one who's devoid of hope and full of despair.  I knew it was coming, but I'm still powerless to stop it.  There's no amount of logic in the world to stop either one of them.

I just wanted to put up my Christmas tree.  My parents were nice enough to bring my tree from their storage yesterday, and since I'm off work today, I figured I'd put it up a little early.  I was afraid it would happen...  I'm not strong enough to handle this either.  The last few years of holidays have not been kind to me.  Three years ago my ex-wife kicked me out of the house before divorcing me.  Two years ago I was living alone in my apartment, and I had to deal with putting up my tree and getting rid of all the ornaments that belonged to my ex-wife.  Last year I didn't get to put up a tree in my tiny apartment, which was depressing enough, but I also lost my best friend, which took an unimaginable toll on me.  This year I'm alone again, and I have to once again deal with getting rid of the ornaments that belonged to my soon-to-be-ex-wife.  My Mom was always so accepting and loving of my current wife and her son...  she was happy to have a family and always treated them well.  She loved buying things for them, and she bought them ornaments to celebrate each Christmas they were in the family.  It makes me sadder for my Mom than it does for me losing my wife and stepson.  My Mom is special to me, and even though she hates my wife now, I know that deep down she's sad as well.

I remember a time that Christmas was happy and special.  As a kid, I always looked forward to putting up the tree.  I'd count down the days weeks in advance.  We always put it up the day after Thanksgiving...  such a fun tradition.  My favorite part was putting on the "icicles."  It was always funny to see my parents get so frustrated putting up the lights (a process that now frustrates me as I do it by myself), then it was time for the ornaments.  Last my Dad would bring out the paper sack filled with tiny, sparkling strands of...  something.  I actually have no idea what it's made out of, but it catches the light and sparkles.  Regardless, putting up the tree was special.  It was my favorite time of year.  What the hell happened?

Being a kid is so full of innocence.  Adulthood sucks.  I want the holidays to be full of magic again, not loneliness and despair.  My doctor (who's the greatest guy in the world, by the way) wants me to see him more this month because holidays are a source of sadness for people like me.  It isn't supposed to be this way.  This is not what life is supposed to be...  But it's about to get worse, and I have no idea how to fix it.

Happy fucking holidays.