This Christmas

I am sitting in the spot on my bed where, 366 days ago, shortly after putting the mac and cheese in the oven, I straddled a thin line between life and death. My hand shook as I opened Safari, causing the capsules in my opposite hand to fall through my fingers one by one. A phone number appeared at the top of my search results. I clicked the link to call. 

My desire to disappear is usually the strongest on New Year’s Eve, but 2018 gifted me with a brand new dread for the entire holiday season. Soon I will recant all the things that brought me to that place on Christmas morning, but for now all one needs to know is that I had a choice and I made it.

The call may have saved my life, but not in the way I expected. I thought someone in a call center would answer and I would hear other lives being saved in the background. The person on the other end of the phone would talk me down. We’d make a resolution, and I’d smile and bite my lip thoughtfully as I hung up the phone, ready to move on with life, like they do in antidepressant commercials. 

What I actually got was Reggie, a man whose name probably isn’t Reggie, but whose voice strongly resembles that of a Reggie. I don’t remember our whole exchange, or which parts happened when (I called the hotline twice that day). I do recall that Reggie tried to get me to come into the nearest local center, and tried to arrange for me to be picked up. I refused. I didn’t want a scene. I just wanted to feel well enough to proceed with the festivities. I told Reggie that I would come to the center tomorrow. I would check in, and I would be treated, and everything would be fine. 

I never did. But I got what I needed from calling the hotline. I got something to hold on to, something to help me ride the tsunami until I could come to my senses and refocus on the fact that deep down, I want this life. Something to stop my split decision from creating an alternate ending. 

I feel a subtle triumph being here today. This year felt certainly short of spectacular, but I’m here. And every time I recline into this spot on my bed, I feel like I’m winning. 

This Christmas I awoke early, but peacefully. Thumbing through my devotional, I heard my father cooking in the kitchen and had a niggling feeling that I needed to go and help. He promptly reminded me that I had my own job to do: the mac and cheese. I got to work.

What I appreciated most about this Christmas was that I was able to breathe through the changes, and embrace the small things that make our family’s Christmas our own.  

We move at our own pace. Since, there are no children in the immediate family, and thus, no rush to rip into gifts, the pagan point of Christmas becomes an afterthought. At some juncture in the afternoon, someone always says, “oh yeah, we should open gifts.” This year I had a drink for breakfast. I did a load of laundry. I reminisced with my mother and prepped the mac and cheese. My sister usually works late, and while she sleeps, my family goes about their business quietly. Instead of opening gifts without her, we keep ourselves busy until she wakes. That in itself is a beautiful courtesy that I hope isn’t unique to our family. 

This Christmas, when my extended family arrived, we ate, drank, laughed, and danced. We played games and helped the little ones free their new toys from the packaging. Not once during the entire night was my peace disturbed. 

I’ve nearly made it through 2019. And though my progress was slow, I recognize that I am in an elevated space from last year. Each experience, including Christmas, was exactly what I needed to prepare myself for the abundance I am claiming in 2020.  

I hope your Christmas was without strife. May your days throughout the rest of the year be bright. If you find yourself needing to talk to a Reggie, give him a call at 1-800-273-8255. Taking care until next time. 

Xo, 

Roco