Weird Christmases

Happy Holidays from my side of the internet.

Every time I come back to my home town, I find the old me trying to tear herself out of this new skin I've built. A younger Pleo still sits inside my head, nestled like a Russian doll, and every year I spend away is another layer I add to keep her hidden. Each holiday back home feels like peeling away any personality I've built, to bare a lonely 14 year old girl on the inside. Here in her domain, I am powerless to stop the waves that come and hit like a large rock being dropped on the chest when I remember living in this bedroom, in this house. Young Pleo is not all that bad, but she carries something dark in her that I have spent so long trying to shake. I can never help but feel like if it latches on again, I will never be able to drop it.

My mother's street is mostly the same as it was 10 years ago, but it will never be the same street I grew up on. I try my best to be okay with this. As I exchange gifts with my cousins, I think about growing up in my grandmother's front yard with them; pretending to be spies on secret missions, racing up and down the street on our bikes and skateboards, seeing who could climb the highest in her large oak tree (I was never very good at this game). Now, we drink wine and martinis and try to avoid topics that will lead to months of silence, coo at our fast growing nieces and nephews and hope that they will be better than us.

This year I got a mug adorned with a rainbow unicorn on one side, a box of plant-themed pins, a new wireless keyboard for my broken tablet, and a plant and cat themed ID card holder. I hope I make good memories with them, and keep the darkness at bay for another year.