When you grow up surrounded by fake happiness and relationships built upon lies, it’s surprising that it’s taken me over two decades to let my emotions rule my body.

Today is Christmas Eve, I’m alone, in a big empty house, alone. My family are visiting for lunch tomorrow, at noon. So for the next fifteen hours, I’ll be alone, in my mind, dreaming of the happiness and joy that is toxically spread across social media.

Today, someone told me that the beginning of my mental breakdown was a “cool story”, and now I’m alone, sitting in the corner of my shower writing a stupid blog post as I let the water wash away my tears.

I’ve been dating a guy for two months and I’m still so confused if it’s worth pursuing or if it’s become a steady friends with benefits relationship. Is there more because I’m sure as hell confused. He’s not a materialistic guy, and yet the only compliment I’ve received from him is “that’s a nice dress”.

It’s been almost a year since I moved out of the toxic family home, a whole year since I lived 5 seconds from my best friends and it’s been rough. I haven’t celebrated Christmas in over two years, and tomorrow is my day to host, to shine and indulge in my amazing cooking skills that I’ve neglected over the past several months.

But right now, I’m in the corner of my shower, choking back tears about my “cool story”, alone. No one tells you adulthood is lonely, I can’t exactly call my mother because she’s busy fighting for her own freedom and sanity.

I’m successful and driven, but I’m alone and it does suck. I’m always surrounded by friends and family until a year ago when I made the decision to move out.

I am a broken woman, with insecurities and I’m strong for the most part. But I can’t do Christmas, and I keep telling myself that I can.

Christmas broke me.