Dead Inside

Dear Butch,

I have never been a fan of the typical popular holidays: Christmas overwhelming, Thanksgiving is too commercial; and although I enjoy Saint Patrick’s Day, I have never really been able to get into the American version of the holiday.

For me, fireworks make a great holiday.  New Years Eve and the week between Pride and the Fourth of July.  These are my favorite times to gather, celebrate, and over-indulge.

I come from a big fireworks family.  I was probably 5 or 6 when I had my first sparkler in my hand and 8-9 when I held a Roman candle for the first time.  Each celebration; birth, death, graduation, marriage, divorce, deployment, homecomings, etc. are celebrated in my family with explosions of color and noise.  I am addicted to the boom that starts in the air, shakes the ground, and then makes my heart go fucking crazy.  Fireworks are like shocks to my heart, pulsating with the purest form of joy.

 

This past New Year’s Eve I was with friends and T-Rex.  We celebrated with silly hats and a small amount of wine.  It was the perfect gathering after a very stressful holiday season.  I kissed my man outside in the fresh winter air, with the smallest snowflakes falling.  It was picturesque and romantic, and there were fireworks.  I am not sure if it was the passion and dedication for T-Rex or the fireworks that made my heart beat faster.  All I knew that I was so in love with T-rex and that he was so in love with me, that we were walking fireworks.

And then Pride came this year, the kick off to my favorite holiday week of the year.  I dragged myself to go out and dance and drink with friends.  All I wanted to do was stay in my bed and shut out the world.  But, I didn’t.  I knew that getting out and getting stupid was the best solution.  I knew that al the vodka, tequila, and gin in the world wouldn’t help heal my heart, but maybe I would just get drunk enough to make the hurt pass out long enough to allow me to feel more numb and less broken.

I kept my spirits up by reminding myself that a week full of fireworks was ahead of me.  Starting at Pride and ending with the Fourth.  But this year, I felt nothing.  Night after night of displays, and nothing.  I watched with awe, but my heart sat heavy in my chest.  For the first time ever there was no joy.

Maybe I am already dead inside.

Love,

Femme

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