Dear Santa,

Dear Santa,
Is it wrong that I feel the way that I do? Is it so wrong that I still feel this way, after years. I've tried to wipe it out with hate and anguish. The anguish remains, but I'm too tired to hate anymore. I'm just sadly angry and angrily sad. Is it fair to feel this way? Should I try to squash it?

Do you know what I want most for Christmas, Santa? I want a family again. I want my grandfather, Memere, Pepere, grandma Bobbi, my dad, I even want Wes and his family back. Just to feel like we were a family again. Just to feel the illusion of love, even for a few moments. Is that wrong? Is it wrong to want even the illusion of it again?

But if Wes wanted to be a father, he should've tried harder. If he wanted to be a part of my life he should've tried. I shouldn't have to go to him to make things work. He should've acted like an adult.

I am my mother's daughter first. I am his daughter second.
I am my brother's sister first. I am his daughter second.
If he couldn't love my mother any longer, couldn't tolerate my brother any longer than he no longer loved or tolerated me. They are a part of me and I am a part of them. I really did love him at one point.

If Carolyn wanted to be my grandmother she should've tried to love my mother, love my brother. She should've tried harder, but I suppose she didn't know how. But that isn't my fault.

I am my mother's daughter first. I am her granddaughter second.
I am my brother's sister first. I am her granddaughter second.
If she can't accept and love them, then she can't accept and love me. And the saddest thing is that I really did love her. Looked up to her. But I can't tolerate her talking shit about my mother. I won't stand for anyone to talk shit about my mother or my brother or my sister.

Mom, Chris and Hannah are almost all I have really. I have several other relatives, but none that I see on a regular basis. And my mother's husband, Mark, is a nice enough man, but he isn't my father. He never will be. He will always be a nice man that my mother is married to. And I'm okay with that. I'm okay with him just being a friend.

I want acceptance for Christmas. I want to believe that Wes actually cared once. Or maybe I don't, because then I'll just blame myself for him not caring any longer.

I'd like to not be so pathetic that I can't sleep because I'm thinking about everything that is wrong. I'd like to not be so hung up on missing people that don't care about me. People who don't even think about me, even though I can't stop thinking about them.

I really just want peace on earth, I guess.

But you aren't any more real than the unicorns and mermaids I claim to believe in. You can't solve my problems anymore than I can. And if there is a God, he has long since stopped listening to me. I suppose this is where I should end this then. What's the point, Santa?

If I say I've been a really good girl this year, will that make any difference?

If I say that I've really tried this year, will that make any difference?

I hate you. I truly do. I hate you for not being real. I hate you for being a childhood principality that can't exist in this world. I hate that this is how everything has worked out.

I am too tired to hate you. I'm too tired to hate anyone, anymore.

Sarai.