Thanksgiving Day 2017.

I spent this Thanksgiving Day alone.

yet again.

I'm not complaining.

Honestly.

(I'm trying not to, I swear.)

It was my decision.

(More or less...)

It's my "norm."

It's what happens every year, as far as I can recall.

My disorder makes things complicated, & the holidays are already complicated & exhausting enough, so I usually just don't get invited.

or when I do I feel like I'm just an obligation, & the paranoia of not truly being welcome causes me to politely decline the invitation.

Either way, it's my own fault for not having a "home for the holidays."

It's my own fault for being "too much."

I get it. I'm not stupid. I really do get where they're coming from, Those normal-brained, lucky humans.

I understand that I am an exhausting person.

(Why do you think it's so easy to get down on myself?)

But it doesn't make it easy to be alone on Thanksgiving Day, even at age twenty-four, when I've been "on my own" for most of the past six years.

Time doesn't magically make the loneliness go away.

It doesn't mean I forget all the holidays spent with loved ones, & how they're having a holiday like that now while I'm here by myself, fighting for my life, battling this incurable illness that no one truly understands.

It doesn't make it easy to feel so different & unwanted & easy to leave behind, so alone while people all around can express such joy as I drown in such sorrow.

It's not that I choose to be ungrateful, either.

I appreciate what I have. Truly, I do.

I am so thankful for a roof over my head, for a bed to sleep on, for medicine to use as needed, for the internet to express myself & learn new things & connect with others...

I'm grateful for my cat, for my truck, for the opportunities modern society offers, for pleasant memories when I am able to recall them, for Colorado sunsets, & for so much more than words could ever convey...