The Remission

Time flies far too fast around the holidays! At work it's one of our busiest seasons, at school we had just started our exam weeks, and that's leaving me little time to do my Christmas errands. Will and I talk everyday, be it through text or on the phone, yet we haven't really gotten time to meet in person since our date at the restaurant last month. It's always that either we work or have school, as it turns out he is in his third year of Human Kinetics, and now with exams starting, it's just impossible to find a time to reunite. Luckily for me, I had only 3 exams, so for the rest of the week I can just focus on my work and the dreaded holiday shopping.

Getting into the shopping centre surely was one of the most difficult parts of holiday shopping. The parking was non-existent, along with peoples manners, the doors packed with people running in and out, and every store having a sale bonanza that would reel in people by the dozens. I arrived with a mission in mind. First to buy a few Christmas goody bags in case I came across a situation in which I had to exchange gifts with some of my close colleagues at the university. Next, would be to try and stock up on good food, both for the holiday feasts and parties I may partake in, and also for me to have during the holiday closures. My last, yet most important, objective was to purchase Will a present. Albeit we aren't necessarily official, but nonetheless he is an interest and I feel he deserves something quaint and meaningful. I'm not exactly trying to purchase a wedding band, just a present with a little more thought than that given off by a goody bag of chocolates. It shall be an easy journey, I'm usually very good with gifts and creativity, it's just very time consuming. 

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Hours have passed, I have run low on both water and patience. I have approximately ten bags of assorted chocolates for my colleagues. I even bought a small toy for Mycroft, although I know his reaction will be nothing short of pure disdain for it. I had finally finished shopping for my groceries, bringing them to my car thankful I was allowed to take their cart for assistance. Turkey, smoked ham, yams and potatoes, corn of course, some baking supplies, and many other little things that accumulated my whole paychecks worth. I was exhausted sitting in my car, when the sudden dred punched me hard enough to shatter my spleen. I hadn't bought William anything yet, nor did I even have a clue where to start. I took a deep breath, reminding myself I had a few more days to think about it, and began my excruciatingly slow drive home through the Christmas traffic. Every pothole, bump, and rattle of my car would set off the incessant squeaking of Mycroft's new toy mouse and the clanging of canned foods. I am quite tempered in my own opinion, but it is fair to say I feel quite burnt down as of this moment, and the slush splashing my vehicle did not make it any better.

My humble abode has never quite before made me feel so relaxed to be in it. I dropped the groceries on the kitchen counter, tossing Mason's gift in a small shoe box that I would later wrap and put under my small corner tree. As I began to put away all my groceries in their proper homes, I saw some of the Christmas adverts I had gotten in the mail laying on my dining table. What better way to window shop than at your own home? I decided it would be smart to sit and relax my head at the table and peruse through the catalogues. Only halfway through my first catalogue does Mycroft grace me with his presence, walking calmly over to the bed I had bought him and sitting next to it. I kept looking at him expectantly,"Come on now, you're so close to it you may as well lay down in it. At least try it once, please?" I had hope my little pep talk would convince the small black and white demon, but he merely laid down in the spot he was, audaciously pushing aside the pet bed. My head slumped in defeat,"It isn't expensive or luxurious I know but at least it has lots of thought in it. That's what counts Mycroft, not the monetary value." I smiled so triumphantly at my words of wisdom, and turned back to my catalogue where I was just reading about the very pricey technical gadgets they were offering,"If only I could listen to my own hypocrisy." I sighed sitting down in my chair. I did, deep down, wanna get Will something nice and most likely higher priced. He is obviously well off, but for me the holidays are budgeting time. It was unrealistic to think I could buy something that would be of value to his standard of living. I needed to focus on him, and the things he likes, and get him something that at least let's him know I'm listening to him talk and pay attention to him. I hit myself over the head with a magazine as a body reflex against my brains thoughts. How one could embarrass themself to themself was not something I could comprehend. I'm sure I will figure something out, in the meantime I should keep reading these magazines in hopes of inspiration. 

Here I am, sitting by the TV and staring at the holiday commercials in between my Christmas movie marathon, when I get to thinking about my family. The question at hand referred more specifically to my sister, and whether or not I should buy her a present this year. I have every year, despite my disregard for the rest of my family. However this year I would have to mail it over seas to her. She'd be 16 now. No. 17 now, her birthday isn't to far after mine. Her photos show her quite grown since I've left home, astonishing how time makes certain things feel like they last forever and other things, usually the important things, fly by. Will knows the basics of my family design, that being that it's only me. He knows nothing of the specific reasons, nor of my sister, but he knows I just don't associate with them on accounts of my own free will. It's not that I still feel sadness around the topic, it's that I hate the reactions. They're normal human reactions, but they still make me feel prejudiced against. They take it upon themselves to tell me how I feel, that I feel sad and lonely, while I feel free and strive off my independence. I especially hate this conversation when it comes to relationships, as I start to feel more like a broken person. I understand I'm broken, I've gone through my ups and downs and suffered endlessly with loneliness. However, it is me who must fix it, I can't rely on others to help me with who I am. I made that mistake with family, and paid dearly for it. I don't want to be seen as broken to my lover, to be seen as someone who needs help or else I may fade away. I want to be a partner, not a project. I have been a project my whole life, and I was ready to be a partner and a person. My own person whom I made myself into through my own struggles and achievements. So yes, I will tell William sometime down the line of my past life, but when I do I will tell him it like a war hero rather than a sad tale. I don't need help, I don't need anyone's help. To rely on someone emotionally is a lease of memories that can expire at anytime. My mother had taught me these things, indirectly and directly. One must be independent, self-sufficient, and never rely on others. If I do, I will fail at whatever goal I attempt to achieve. Friendships and other relationships are very important, and so is trusting them, but I am not one to rely on them for something I can do myself.

I shake my head as I grab another catalogue, trying to throw these thoughts out of my head before they begin to ferment. I look up at the squirrel on my wall, smiling a little bit as I recall its place in my heart. My first stuffed animal, not a teddy bear or a sheep or something cuddly like that, but a stuffed squirrel with a facial expression of utter bemusement. He is one of the only ties left between my old family and my old self. He reminds me of the times before our fallout, times before heartbreak and abuse, just times of general enjoyment and love. Times when it was safe to rely on those around you.

The movie ends, and yet another catalogue tossed onto the far end of the coffee table. I'm going to go through them again tomorrow, my mind being fogged over with shadows of my past. I look through my phone, scrolling through my social media as I come across my sister's latest selfie. She tries her best to look dramatic, that being her constant state of living. Always dressing overly character, behaving like a rebel with the attitude of a fake conformist. Such polar opposites we are, yet how well we both benefitted each other. I turn off my phone and put it face down on the catalogues, closing my eyes as they sting. I yawn, using natural human reflex as my excuse for the watery eyes. Then sets in the repercussions of my denial, that hollowed out callous feeling. I've always been an emotional fella, crying in movies, laughing to tears, being empathetic with friends and family. Yet, as amazing these feelings can be, they also come with their natural opposition of unpleasantries. To avoid these feelings, I try to turn myself off. I usually get fatigued, lethargic, and the feeling of a hard hollow core sits into the centre of my chest. For these moments I don't feel much of anything, both good and bad are ignored in the hopes of a psychological homeostasis. It isn't ideal, it isn't healthy, it isn't a solution, but it is the only thing that works for me. I make my way up the stairs, aching for sleep and contempt with the idea of sleeping in late before work tomorrow. I lay in my bed, the feeling of comfort begins to move the fog but I beg for it to come back, the tears slowly pressuring my eyes to burst. I lay on my side and try to compose myself, looking around at my vacant walls and at my pristine second pillow that has yet to be used. I eye my night stand, only a clock sitting on it, my headboard clear excluding my personal hygiene products. I close my eyes and try to not think about this feeling of vacancy, I am fine being independent, I don't need anyone to help me because I can help myself. The numbing in my stomach was coming back as the darkness conquered my sight, my emotions being silenced by none other than the very thoughts that invoked them. Then I heard Mycroft walk out the cat door, the click of it shutting echoed in the house. I could hear it bounce off the walls, the furniture, the windows, getting louder and louder as it crept into my room. It then began to bounce around in my head, loud enough that I couldn't hear my own tears hit the pillow.