While it’s nowhere near as suicide-inducing as being alone on Christmas, it still sucks pretty hard to be alone on Thanksgiving. The nagging knowledge that, out there right now, people have forgotten all about you, cold and alone in your dark dwelling, routinely contemplating between popping a DVD or a full bottle of pills, nowhere to go and no one to love you.
I feel ya, kid. When I moved back to Oklahoma City from Colorado, I had all these grand designs in my head that, maybe after a decade away, my family had changed and we’d have these wonderful semi-Norman Rockwell Thanksgiving celebrations together, but here it is again, a few years back, and it hasn’t happened yet. It will probably never happen. So, of course, you learn to make due. You learn to create your own celebrations. You learn to live (or die) within that frame of reference.