I Can’t Do That, Hal. 

I wish there was a “Holiday Helpline” you could call to vent your frustrations and worries about spending the holidays with or without family. I have to go downstairs after this extreme blowout with my mother this afternoon and play “My Little Family” as though everything is fine. 

I AM NOT OK.   WE ARE NOT OK. 

The tension between me and my mother and me and my father in law is sits on me like an elephant. With the two of them down there playing nicey-nice, I literally feel my stomach start to churn (and, no, that was not misuse of the word “literally.”  I become more and more nauseated seeing them together oozing about family functions; it’s altogether disgusting.).  

I actually think I’m going have to take a Xanax to avoid having a panic attack or jumping down someone’s throat (like last time) until I can get some therapy (because old dogs are stubborn and think I’m the only one with the problem won’t learn new tricks).

Sigh. Here I go. 

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