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I hate Thanksgiving.
I hate Thanksgiving because it is a day dedicated to family, of which I have none. I hate it because it's a foreign holiday, something that doesn't belong to me. I hate it because when I go back to work on Monday, I will have to pretend that I ate a turkey meal when the truth is, I had instant ramen for dinner. I hate Thanksgiving because my husband asked me if he could work it, I said yes, and yet I selfishly need him right now. He's the only person I care about who's still in my life and he's not here.
Even his family annoyed me. We didn't go over since he needed to sleep for work and I worked last night. Well they called and said they had leftovers. So I called back at 7pm (not too late, right?) to be told rather curtly that they were all sleeping. Never mind that I just wanted to talk to somebody and go over to see a human face. I guess they're not my family, they're my husband's. They can't be expected to be on call for me when I'm lonely, but still, I felt like some freeloader calling up for scraps.
I hate the pictures of normal families gathered around the table. I make up these little stories about how the happy smiling father is probably a pervert, while the mother is cheating on him and the kids are getting bullied at school. Why not? That was what my family was, and you could have taken plenty of those photographs of us. Everybody thought we were a good little family, and why not? I did as my mother asked and kept all our skeletons in the closet. Now I'm the pariah because I left, because I wanted to talk about our issues and she wanted to ignore them and keep me close, keep me fixing all her mental health problems like a free therapist and keep me listening to all the stories of her bullshit affairs with men while I was the one who wanted to end my life.
So yeah, I hate Thanksgiving. It's not even a holiday we had in my homeland, but I hate it anyway. I hate it because the concept of the family is a crock of shit, yet we're all expected to keep building the lie. I can't tell anybody that I didn't partake in the ritual this year, or they'll take pity on me like a stray dog. Truth is, I'd rather not celebrate it at all. It only makes me want something I've never had and will never have.
I hate Thanksgiving because it is a day dedicated to family, of which I have none. I hate it because it's a foreign holiday, something that doesn't belong to me. I hate it because when I go back to work on Monday, I will have to pretend that I ate a turkey meal when the truth is, I had instant ramen for dinner. I hate Thanksgiving because my husband asked me if he could work it, I said yes, and yet I selfishly need him right now. He's the only person I care about who's still in my life and he's not here.
Even his family annoyed me. We didn't go over since he needed to sleep for work and I worked last night. Well they called and said they had leftovers. So I called back at 7pm (not too late, right?) to be told rather curtly that they were all sleeping. Never mind that I just wanted to talk to somebody and go over to see a human face. I guess they're not my family, they're my husband's. They can't be expected to be on call for me when I'm lonely, but still, I felt like some freeloader calling up for scraps.
I hate the pictures of normal families gathered around the table. I make up these little stories about how the happy smiling father is probably a pervert, while the mother is cheating on him and the kids are getting bullied at school. Why not? That was what my family was, and you could have taken plenty of those photographs of us. Everybody thought we were a good little family, and why not? I did as my mother asked and kept all our skeletons in the closet. Now I'm the pariah because I left, because I wanted to talk about our issues and she wanted to ignore them and keep me close, keep me fixing all her mental health problems like a free therapist and keep me listening to all the stories of her bullshit affairs with men while I was the one who wanted to end my life.
So yeah, I hate Thanksgiving. It's not even a holiday we had in my homeland, but I hate it anyway. I hate it because the concept of the family is a crock of shit, yet we're all expected to keep building the lie. I can't tell anybody that I didn't partake in the ritual this year, or they'll take pity on me like a stray dog. Truth is, I'd rather not celebrate it at all. It only makes me want something I've never had and will never have.
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