I survived yet another holiday. It should be a wonderful happy time – Thanksgiving and Christmas and such, but for me it is entirely overwhelming.
First of all there is the responsibility of making the dishes assigned to me. And in comes my need for perfection. I want the pumpkin pies to be perfect. I want the mashed potatoes to be perfect. After all, those are important parts of Thanksgiving, right? The edge of one pumpkin pie didn’t turn out well because of the wrap around the crust. Sure, it didn’t burn, but it looked like shit. Pat on the back, Miss Perfectionist. Sigh.
Thanksgiving Day started out the way I like it – watching the Macy’s Day parade on the telly. But then it seemed to suddenly get loud and animated. Too much stimulation. Too much anxiety. Everything was just too much.
I had to take “breaks” in my parents’ bedroom (the farthest room from the kitchen). I hate that, to be so overwhelmed by my FAMILY that I have to hide. Once again, that is mental illness. It swirls things in your mind ’til they make no sense. I was safe. There were no threats. So why was I so anxious?