TW: This short story contains depictions of depression and self-harm.
Barb pulled up to the curb outside her parents’ house, put the car in park, and turned off the engine. Then she took a deep breath in through her nose and let it out through her mouth as slowly as possible. In previous years she’d be rushing to collect all the presents she’d bought and the cookies she’d baked, but this year she knew she wouldn’t get through the holidays if she didn’t take some time to manage her energy.
Everything seemed to take so much energy these days, and Barb felt like she had less and less energy to give, so she had to manage it carefully. Part of that involved stopping to take a deep breath before engaging in activities she knew would be draining.
Once she had expelled all the air from her diaphragm, she forced herself to open the car door so the cold wind that rushed in would motivate her to collect her holiday trappings and head for the house.
“Cookies are here!” her dad announced, smiling at her as he did so to let her know prioritizing the cookies over her was just a joke. Barb was familiar with the old joke, and she smiled her consent, but a part of her wanted to use it as an excuse to drop off the cookies and presents and turn right around so she could go back to her car and drive as far away as possible.
A clip from “Love, Actually” played in her mind where Colin Firth arrived at his family’s Christmas gathering, only to say, “I’ve got to go, actually.” Barb pictured herself saying a version of his next line, “A woman’s got to do what a woman’s got to do.” The thought made the desire to leave so intense it caused a physical pain right below Barb’s sternum, but she forced herself to go through the motions of taking off her things. She had been telling herself that all she needed to do was go through the motions, and tonight would put that theory to the test.
Once the cookies were put away and her winter gear was off, her dad offered her a glass of eggnog without even asking. Normally, Barb loved eggnog, but this year her anxiety and depression had come with a side of nausea, and just looking at the eggnog made her want to barf. “Actually, I’m trying to keep my calorie intake down this year. Maybe I’ll just stick with sparkling water for now.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” said her dad, who had made snide comments about her weight through her entire adolescence. Barb had only recently figured out she didn’t need to answer her father every time he spoke, so rather than try to come up with a witty quip, she just smiled and took a La Croix out of the fridge.
“At least pour it into a glass,” her dad said. “There’s nothing festive about drinking from a can.”
He took the can from her hand and poured it into a glass, which he handed back to her. As she took it, Barb briefly imagined breaking the glass against the counter and shoving the shards in her eye.
It was going to be a long night.
It doesn’t have to be, said a voice in her head.
Quiet. I’ll deal with you later. Barb took a sip of her water as she shoved the Voice of Temptation to a corner of her mind and focused on getting through the evening without committing any acts of violence.
The end.