Mental Hell

Bloody misery guts

Think I'm a Bah Humbug kinda kraken? Well,this is nothing. You should have seen me last Christmas when I was in the middle of my breakdown. You'd swear Santa'd been found dead in our chimney and that the wailing of the world's children was making the globe spin off its axis.
The thing is, this what was going on in my screwed-up noggin. If Santa was festering in the chimney I was the only person who knew it. As far as the rest of the world was concerned I was being my usual festive self, secretly propped up by regular sobs into a cushion before resuming the merry state that I thought everyone expected of me. 
In short, last Christmas was fucking horrible. I alone was carrying Santa's sack and it was weighed down with breeze blocks. Blitzen, Donner, Rudolf and the crew were all too busy pissing their names into the snow to help and I was drowning in goodwill that I felt I just didn't deserve to receive.
It got worse on Crimbo morn when I was presented with a fantastic gift by Conjugal Kraken which pitched me into a swirling state of panic at whether I deserved to receive anything other than a kick in the face. I was trapped in some terrible mentally-induced purgatory but with baubles and Noddy fucking Holder. 
Anyway, why am I telling you this? It's my blathering way of saying that happy Christmases don't necessarily arrive dressed in ribbons and spangly paper. Sometimes it's what you do for people, rather than what you get them, that's important and when you're grappling with a depressive that's more important than ever.
This year, when I've been asked what I want for Crimbo the best I can come up with is that I want some semblance of peace. In my head, I mean. I just want a day that contains some happiness and laughter and most of all a day where my depression gets so knotted up in tinsel that it throttles itself. Yeah, I'd like a few books but that's it. Most of all I'd just like to feel anything but the biggest failure/ oddball/ nutjob in the known universe. 
I know, I know, it's too late for that. It's not too late for this Crimbo day to be a good one though. I'm keeping the hope alive, especially now that the sweep has rendered our chimney corpse free.