Merry Christmas.

It’s nearing Christmas and my heart is beating so fast I’m worried people can see it though my shirt. My palms are sweaty and I’ve struggled to fall asleep most nights whilst trying to fight against this surge of energy. But this isn’t due to the expected excitement Christmas should bring, no, it’s quite the opposite. The prospect of spending my first ever Christmas day alone is incredibly anxiety provoking. I get that even if I was with my family, this Christmas wouldn’t be all that great. I have never had a Christmas which hasn’t involved abuse or a huge argument between my parents. And I understand that the image the adverts portray isn’t what everyone gets and that having a family isn’t all laughter whilst eating those ‘Taste the Difference’ mince pies. But it’s hard to keep this in mind when you’ve got a whole day to waste away whilst you hear about your friends going to their parents and being together. I never knew how awful it would feel to be homeless at Christmas.

As the weeks grew closer to the 25th my mental health team and many other people continued to ask me what I planned to do. They repeated that it’s important to plan. That I’m at high risk of overdose if I don’t put in bulletproof defences. But I guess I never really wanted to give it too much thought. This is why I had to quickly buy Christmas presents and write cards because giving my time to a holiday based around love and family is too much for me. Maybe I should have listened to them because I’m now less than two days away and my plans are virtually nonexistent. I could just go with it and take it hour by hour. Or I could plan it down to the exact minute. I could even travel far away and hide until this dreadful occasion passes. Every option I’ve come up with isn’t what I want because I am desperate to be with my family. It’s two years since I reported and life has got worse not better. They promised me that reporting would be a relief and that I would feel safe. But I can’t help but wonder why it feels so very wrong and cruel. He gets everyone and I’m left alone. I really did pull the shortest straw.

I shouldn’t be surprised because I have always been the black sheep of my family and the fact that I played one in my school nativity was probably an omen. Maybe they have better Christmas’ without me and I genuinely do hope that they do. I don’t resent their choices; I purely resent my own. If I had been not so overly hopeful in keeping my family, I might have given holidays and birthdays more thought. Perhaps then I would have tried to imagine what spending a family occasion alone might feel like. But I do know that I could never have imagined just how lonely and heartbreaking this feels. I try so very hard to be excited for my friends because I don’t want to make things awkward. They are allowed to be excited about Christmas. So I have lied and put on a fake smile for the last few weeks and when Christmas came up in conversation I either made something up or asked more questions about them. I am ashamed of my choices and I feel like I do deserve to feel this pain and loneliness. I just look at my friends and I naturally ask myself, ‘Why can’t I be them?’. 

Growing up I never really gave any of my time to think about the homeless around Christmas time. It was something the news mentioned in the background as I unwrapped several presents from Santa Claus. But now I really do understand on some level how horrible it must feel to be homeless at Christmas time. In this respect I’m lucky because I might be in homeless accommodation but I’m not on the streets. I have food and water. I have heating too. Some people don’t even have these basic needs and not just over the festive period but all year round too. What must that feel like? To be so fragile to whatever may come their way as they try to sleep in the dark and the cold. My heart goes out to them because not having anyone to come and give them a hug and whisper that they are not alone is hard to articulate. I must admit it makes me incredibly angry and frustrated that there is still a huge crisis in terms of poverty and homelessness. That domestic abuse still happens and is on the increase, yet funding cuts mean more refuges are nearing closure. And a small child, like the one I used to be, will wake up on Christmas morning with fear not excitement because abuse is their father’s favourite present. 

For these people it’s not a silent night. It’s not a kiss under the mistletoe. It’s not rushing downstairs too early on Christmas morning because you know Santa has been. It’s not love and family. It’s not about joy and laughter. It’s just not.

It’s lonely.