My Christmas was literally so horrible. The depressive episode I was coming off of over Thanksgiving had hug reached a plateau, and then Christmas sent me spiraling.
I spent $1,000 that I did not have to spend 3 nights at a resort packed with people who could afford to be there and who have a lifestyle conducive to going to a resort.
We did not fit in. The baby acted terrible 90% of our trip. My husband acted just as badly. It was embarrassing and I was grief stricken.
It’s like I know I will not ever have a normal life again or a normal parenting journey because my child is severely autistic. But then sometimes the universe likes to REALLY remind me. So it spent 3 days showing me just how fucking stupid I was for being there. For trying to have fun. For trying to take it easy and relax. For trying to be normal.
I hate myself for going. I had a thought prior that we shouldn’t. That I was spending money I didn’t have. All we did was sit in the room and eat and struggle to go to the pool because of baby. I cried every single day of our trip and threw out my back sleeping in a bed that wasn’t mine and then pulled it again the hour we were leaving to drive home.
The image of my husband storming across the dining room of the resort toward me because his card was declined on Christmas Day while my 7 year old is screaming in a huge open dining room will never leave me. The sinking feeling I felt sitting there in my tight outdated thrift store dress, watching him, listening to baby, realizing I didn’t give him the money properly and him coming back with two plates of horribly overpriced crap holiday food and trying to pretend it was fun because it was Christmas Day was devastating. I wanted to cry right then. I wanted to sob into my dress and drive home on the spot.
I wanted to leave my husband in that moment. But I wanted to go back in time and do it like 8 years ago…
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