Last year at this time, I was groaning to myself about how I had to spend another Christmas Eve with the cow and her welfare clan of trash.

But this year, I wish Christmas Eve could have been spent the same exact way.

I miss him. Having Christmas Eve at Marissa's house just wasn't the same. Sure, it was fun. I really did have a great time with my cousins. I love them all so much. I love my family. They're really a great family. And dinner was delicious. Marissa baked a ham, which was amazing. The food was edible, which is something I've never been able to say about previous dinners at Christmas Eve. And the gift-giving part was fun. It wasn't the trash clan having Christmas while we sat around, watching. Well did a secret Santa kind of thing, and a few got gifts for Jordan and Jessie, the only two kids left (because Christmas should really be more for the kids). It was really a lot of fun.

But it didn't feel like Christmas Eve. Not without being at Pop-Pop's house.

And it hurts, because now, it's really starting to hit me that he's gone. The first five or so months weren't that bad, because it was hard to notice him gone. I really didn't see him that much. So nothing really changed. (Except the few times, during bus rides or late at night, when I would cry myself to sleep, thinking of that last time I saw him.) But tonight, it really hurts. Because it's dawning on me that he won't get to see another Christmas. And I won't get to see him again.

I can't even imagine how Dad must feel right now. God, I don't even want to. The pain must be unbearable. Losing a parent? And in particular, one he was so damn close to? I don't even want to think about losing my parents. It hurts too much to even think about it. But now, Dad can only think about what it was like for his father to be here. It's the same with his sisters, too. Especially Liz. She was daddy's girl, I think. I don't know how they do it. All four of them.

But it's hard. It doesn't feel like Christmas. I don't even care that it is, really. Not right now. Not anymore. There's really only two things on my list this year.

Pop-Pop and Cotton.

But right now, most importantly, Pop-Pop.

But Merry Christmas to you all. And, if you're missing a loved one right now (be it a relative or close friend or anyone), then I'm sorry. I know what you're going through. And it really makes the holidays shitty, doesn't it? But hold on to their memory, and make it a great holiday for them, okay? Try to smile, because it's what they would have wanted. They wouldn't want you to waste your Christmas by being sad over them. They want you to carry on their traditions, and make their memories live on. Be sad about them another day. Not today. Smile, and know that their bodies may be gone, but their lives are still in your hearts and memories.

And if you're holding a grudge against someone, forgive them. Whatever they did, don't waste your time dwelling on it. It does no one any good. I know it's hard, but in the end, it'll be worth it. Try to forgive and forget. If you can't, forgive but never forget. But if forgiveness isn't possible, then just forget. Sometimes, you just can't forgive some things people do. But holding it against them is unhealthy for you. What goes around comes around, right? For your sanity, just believe in that. Move on and stop wasting your precious time worrying about it.

Let's try that together, no?

If I could go back to a moment in time, I'd choose the last night Cotton was here. I'd make it count more.

I held him, not realizing it would be the last night day with him. I think in the back of my head I knew. A nagging feeling pulling me down, as I snuggled around the weakening dog barely moving on my bed.

I knew.

But I didn't want to believe it. So I did the best to say goodbye without really saying goodbye. Without acknowledging it was a goodbye.

I was reading through this blog. I got all the way up to May 2013. I had to stop at the first post in May. "I almost lost my puppy..."

I can't go through that again. Reading my despair as I almost lost him, then seeing my hopefulness because he appeared to be getting better. Then reading as it all went downhill. That's still a wound in me that hurts.

It would feel nice to cry, though. It'll give me something solid to cry over. And when I mourn him, when I remember my dog and cry over the loss, I feel closer to him. But Angela is here, and I don't want to cry in front of her.

But right now, thinking about it, it's hard to breathe. There's a lump in my chest where I'm pretty sure my heart is, but it feels like my heart is in my stomach. Or, just not there at all. Because it's really hard to breathe. Honestly. It's like my lungs don't want to work. Or my heart doesn't want to pump.

It was hard enough reading my fleeting comments about Cotton throughout the first year and a half of this blog. At one point, I wrote: "Damn it, Cotton wants to play now. Goodness, doggie."

I want to go back in time, and scream in my face, "You fucking idiot! Open your fucking eyes. That dog isn't going to live forever like you want to believe. Treasure the precious time you have now, because it won't last forever. And you can't go back in time to take advantage of the this time now. You have to make the most out of life in the present, because nothing lasts forever and you can't take advantage of the fact that things exist in the now. So put down your fucking electronics. Pick up that orange ball or the pink and blue squeaky bone and throw it for that poor dog. Give him the life he deserves. Give him the attention he needs and wants. Give him the love you know you have for him while you can. Because once he's gone, he's gone. And you'll spend the rest of your life beating yourself up for it."

God damn, I hate myself sometimes.

I need to stop. Because there's a lump in my throat and I can't breathe around it, and my eyes are watering so much that I can hardly see.

Oh, what I wouldn't do to go back in time. At least for a day, just to see Cotton again.

The only thing stopping right now is the fact that Angela is sitting on the other side of the room. That's the only thing. I'm not even sure what is causing this. It's just a darkness that's enveloping my mind that I can't get rid of. You'd think that I would try to reach for help. But nope. Nuh-uh! I'm strong. I'm stronger than this! I can handle it all by myself! Hehehe!!

Until the darkness just consumes my entire fucking mind! :D 'Cause I'm such a strong person!!! ^_^

Dreams...

A series of images that plays in the mind while the body is at rest.

Do they mean anything? Can we possibly learn anything from them? Are they really wishes our hearts make?

I like to think not. I've had some pretty messed up dreams that make no sense. I've had some that I'm terrified of.

But I've also had dreams that I want to go back to. Some bittersweet ones that have made me wake with a sense of nostalgia, or regret, or longing, or pain. It's those that really make me wonder:

Do dreams really mean anything? Can anything be said about what is going on in our subconscious based on what we remember from our dreams?

In related news, I'm spiraling again. Or maybe that's really not news. I don't know. I don't even know what has brought—

Of fucking course I do. A certain guy I play Grand Theft Auto with. Why does this keep happening to me? Let me rephrase that: Why do I keep doing this? I meet people and fall for them, when I never meant to. First it was Lazar, now it's this guy.

I don't even know if it is him. I think it's the concept. The thought of it. Sure, he's an amazing person. (And amusing, entertaining, wise, intelligent, sweet, considerate, adorable.) But it's the fact that these kind of people do exist in the world, and the only time I meet them is when I'm behind a screen. And I'm not meaning this in a creepy way. I mean that I can only meet people when it's anonymous.

I mean that my self-confidence is so fucking shot that I hole myself up in my room, away from the real world, and long for something I don't think I'll ever get. And you'd think that by now, I'd try and do something about this. Try and improve my self-image into something I want to be proud of.

But there's just so much wrong with me. The biggest thing, the thing that I can't change, is is the thing I was born with, and everything that comes with it. The scars, most importantly. The most noticeable one: the A.C.E. procedure. That fucking bulge in my abdomen. I can't get rid of that. I can lose weight, but that bulge will still be there.

And that all boils down to the fact that I was born fucked up, and it's going to haunt me for the rest of my life.

And it's that little fact right there that makes me wonder why I'm still alive and trying. My life is never going to get better. I'll always be fucked up. I can't change the past. So why bother trying to make the future into something that it can never be?