Sarah R. Hughes

I do not like being an alarmist, and what is worse, I do not feel like I am being an alarmist.

His behavior is just alarming.

“I’m never having children.” “I don’t want any kids.” “I’ve just never felt the urge.” These, and many other phrases, are strings of words I have loved to hear over the years.

So, yes. I’m a Holiday Season hating monster, but not for the reasons you might think.

Days that it doesn’t hurt so badly, I still see it. I still feel it like a dull ache in the back of your mind after a night of drinking.

I am not naïve. I understand if you work hard for your money, so hard for the money, it should be yours. Taxation is often considered a form of theft by many citizens and there are justifications for this. However, I am also not an asshole. I don’t need ALL OF MY MONEY.

Nobody is going to love you like a dog. I’m sorry, nobody. Like, not even your husband, wife, boyfriend, girlfriend, parents, even your children. Nobody.

The pain is a cold wind bearing against me, pushing me back. I don’t know what else to do but write to you.

With no warning, I feel the shadow again. That goddamn shadow.

When he said he could grab women by the pussy, people defended him. Women defended him. Women demonized his accusers.

Society will have taught you, or maybe just convinced you every woman is standing at the top of her own metaphorical castle tower, screaming in horror at the thought of dying alone, waiting impatiently for you to rescue her. Not the case with us my friends.

These are not your wounds to heal, but we are thankful every day that we wake up and you are still there beside us.

You relish having somebody in your life like this, but you don’t believe either of you belong to the other; that idea has faded.