Bah humbug

Bah humbug. I’ll say it again—bah humbug.

When I started this blog, I promised myself I’d write about the challenges and the successes: the highs and the lows, the wins and the spectacular face-plants. Dear reader, this is a face-plant. Proceed with caution.

A few days ago, I felt myself starting to slide emotionally. The transition began to feel like too much—moving countries, navigating residency paperwork, furnishing an apartment from scratch, and attempting to communicate in a language I do not speak. It is too much. (No, I am not quitting.) I didn’t just slip; I spiraled with enthusiasm.

Here’s the thing: I have episodes of severe depression. This isn’t sadness or holiday blues—it’s the kind that presses the pause button on your entire existence. Everything irritates me. I want to isolate, cut ties, and live under a blanket like a disgruntled hermit. This mental illness has always been with me, and it always will be.

Which brings us to Christmas Day.

I woke up and could not get out of bed. I knew what needed to be done. I had a loose agenda. My brain simply said, No. Eventually—around 7:00 a.m.—I got up for the sole purpose of letting the dogs out. Heroic.

As I walked downstairs, I was greeted by the apartment: unchanged, undecorated, and aggressively un-Christmas. No tree. No Santas. No Frostys. Not even a whiff of cinnamon. And I love Christmas decorations. Christmas, it turns out, had opted not to attend this year. My only desire was to retreat upstairs, pull the covers over my head, and ghost the world.

A few days earlier, we had agreed to go to a friend’s house for Christmas. We took the bus for the first time—because nothing says “festive” like public transportation anxiety. When we arrived, there were familiar faces and unfamiliar ones. We did the social things: said hello, chatted, ate, drank a bit.

I talked with a man named Mark from Pittsburgh, which was genuinely nice. After a few hours, Mikey and I said our goodbyes and headed home. On the bus, Mikey asked if I had a good time. I said it was okay.

What I meant was, Not really, but thank you for asking.

My dad called. Twice. I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to perform happiness or declare that I was having the best Christmas ever in Uruguay. I didn’t have the energy. So I silenced the call.

No one else called.

Cue the internal narrator: They’re busy. You’re not a priority. Do you see the fun little paradox? I didn’t want to talk to anyone, desperately wanted them to call, and then absolutely would not answer if they did.

This is what depression does. It paints everything with a dark filter, erases the good parts, and convinces me that isolation is self-preservation. I disconnect from people I love and quietly villainize anyone who doesn’t meet expectations I never voiced.

At the time, Christmas Day was a full bah-humbug situation. But don’t worry—I’m already beginning to see the good in it. I can even laugh at the fact that Mikey and I skipped breakfast because we had no food (no refrigerator to store cold items and no stove/oven to cook on) and nothing was open—which, honestly, tracks.

Today, I am starting to see the great experiences of yesterday. I am beginning to smile just a little more, and I am not as negative.

I believe the first of anything is the hardest. The first day, first week, first month, first year are all the hardest. I try to keep that idea in mind when we face the unforseen challenges.

I know the clouds will clear.
I know the darkness will fade.
I know the sun will rise.
I know.

-Nope, I did not write that. It comes from the Broadway musical of The Lion King.

Feliz Navidad
Salud to Family Day (Uruguay’s holiday)
Merry Christmas

Thanks for sticking with me to the end. Be kind to one another—and be kind to yourself.