Darkness is what I feel the most comfort in. If everything was always perfect in this simulation that we call life, and then all of a sudden one bad turn arises, most people would spiral out of control. For me however, when everything is dark and then suddenly something bright shines through, I start to appreciate life just a tiny bit more.                                        

          “What can I get for you, sir?” inquired the very kind cashier at Krispy Kreme.

          I am a very strange creature. I have way too much emotion for one person to handle. Although I despise many of the people that inhabit this place that we float about in, I do feel relieved when I come across somebody who seems to have a happy heart full of life, and who’s personality can brighten up anyone's day.

          “Give me a baker’s dozen. Surprise me with any doughnuts you desire,” I politely challenged.

          As the nice young lady grabbed the doughnuts, I thought about what it must be like to live life so comfortably. I am always so uncomfortable. Mentally, I am perpetually exhausted. Physically, just forget it. Everytime I wake up from my slumber I turn over and softly complain, “Here we go.”

          I also wonder if it’s all my fault that I am like this. Is it a chemical imbalance? Is it life’s sudden tragedies that keep me from smiling? Is it just the Path of Life that I was destined to take? Or am I so used to this way of life that I have no idea how to change it? Like I said, I’m pretty content with darkness.

          As I walked towards the doorway to leave the building, the cashier called out, “Have a merry Christmas!”

          “You as well!” I called back.

          I hate Christmas. What’s the point of it anyway? Why are we getting presents on somebody else’s birthday? That is, if all the stories about Jesus Christ ever even happened anyway. Doubt it. A part of me can understand the joy of bringing the family together on those cozy, exciting Christmas days, but not enough for me to transform into a ball of joy on every December 25th.

          That trite remark that the wonderful cashier said to me remembered why I was at Krispy Kreme in the first place. Every year my mother asks everybody who’s coming over to bring something. I always bring the doughnuts.

          As I got into my car, I turned on the radio. When I scanned all of the local radio stations and found that all of the annoying, insanity-inducing Christmas music was playing, I switched to my CD’S instead. My heart skipped a beat in temporary joy as The Door’s came on. There’s just something about their music that helps me get through the day.

          I almost felt like I was about to cry when Jim Morrison sang the lines,

                                             Wishful sinful, wicked blue

                                                  Water covers you

                                            Wishful sinful, wicked you

                                                Can’t escape the blue

          These lines are so true to me. My wicked self will never be able to escape the blue. Always sad, always down, always this way.

          When I finally got to my mother’s house, my niece ran outside all excited. She’s the only one that likes me.

          “Uncle Alan!” she cried.

          “Good morning to you, and a very merry Christmas!” I pretended.

          “How’ve you been Uncle Alan?”

          “Oh, I’m just happy to see you, my dear.”

          “Let’s go inside so you can say ‘hi’ to everybody else! Everyone’s here!”

          More like everyone who hates me is here. My anxiety started to creep up into my frame of mind. I walked up to the front door worried that when I walk into this house, everyone woud be looking at me. Looking at me with eyes that tell me I’m a freak.

          As we walked through the doorway, and after that terrible right turn, I felt like a psychic. It happened just as I had envisioned it would. All of them, sitting there deep in conversation, until I walked in. They all glanced at me, looked at each other, and then stared back at me.

          “Hello,” I awkwardly said.

          “Hi, Alan. You can put the doughnuts on the table back there,” my sister Pamela said.

          As I nodded silently, I walked over to the table and placed the box down. I was freaking out on the inside at this moment. I didn’t know what to do. I caught myself patting my hands nervously on the box to the rhythm of “Break on Through (To the Other Side)”.

          A voice from the far side of the room, who happened to be my father asked, “How’ve you been son?”

          “I’ve been great, dad. Thanks,” I encouraged.

          “Have you?”

         “Yes.”

          “What a change from the last time we saw you.”

          “Last Christmas was a year ago.”

          “So it was.”

          Why did I even bother coming here? I knew my anxiety wouldn’t be able to take this awkwardness. I also knew they would see right through me, that I really am not okay. I just really need to make them believe me. I’ve seen enough James Bond films that I know how to manipulate my enemies within their own boundaries.

          “Why don’t we go upstairs and get the breakfast started?” insisted someone else in the room who hated me. This person appeared from the far side of the room who was my aunt Cathy.

          As we all shuffled slowly up the stairs, I was terrified of having to eat. With my stomach always at the ready for anything savory, this time my bodily structures failed me. My anxiety felt like I was going to breakdown at any moment.

          As a human being, I feel like I should be comfortable being around my family. After all, they are the ones who lifted me from their nest and set me free to fly in any direction that I wanted. However, that wasn’t the only thing they have done. In fact, they disowned me. They never cared about who I was, or who I wanted to be. They were always so uncomfortable with having me around. My family seemed to schedule a time slot in each day in my childhood that they probably called, “Let’s Make Alan Feel As Miserable About Himslf as much as we Possibly Can Time”.

          “Alright, everybody sit down, and I’ll get the food,” my mother so kindly said. Before she turned around to get the fresh bagels and lox, she gave me one quick, nasty look.

          I wanna kill you, I thought.

          Scenes of murder flashed in my head. Various ways of death that can be showcased right here in my family’s sacred kitchen.

          I must’ve been thinking about killing my mother for awhile, because after I was done fantasizing, my whole family was sitting at the table, all starved and ready to feast. I noticed that when I was making my bagel, I was looking down the whole time, nervous that I would lock gazes with anybody in my family.

          “So...Alan, how’s everything going?” asked Pamela.

          “Yeah, uh...everything’s going just fine. I can’t really find anything to whine about. Work is busy, but it’s good to me,” I said,

          “You have a girlfriend?”

          “I did a few months ago. She broke up with me though.”

          “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, Alan.”

          “Well you know what they say, there’s plenty of fish in the sea. Hey, can you pass that tea?” I smirked softly because I successfully rhymed throughout that whole dreaded conversation, just to make it a bit more entertaining.

          “Alan,” my father’s deep and manly voice stated.

          My father’s dark eyes stared into me, which reminded me of all the times he hurt me. Scenes of verbal abuse and misuse flashed before my present state of mind, and before I knew it, I was plunging deep into the world people like to call “flashbacks”.

          My own father has me against a wall right now, I thought as a young child. His hands are around my neck, suffocating me. I can’t breathe.

          “You’re a freak,” my father sincerely said.

          As I was crying from those words, he pounded a fist into my eyes, and I could no longer see.

          “Yes?”

          “Have you been getting help?” my father questioned.

          “For what?”

          “Alan c’mon, be serious. You know you’re not well.”

          “I’m better now. No more dark thoughts,” I nervously said.

          This was the moment that I dreaded since I knew I was invited to Christmas at my mother’s house.

          My father looked at me in the eye and said, “You’re not better. I can see it in your eyes.”

          “No, no. I am finally content with darkness,” I began. “Back then, all I ever did was dwell in my past. Now I go through the day knowing all the dark in the world exists. I accept that it will always be there with me. I understand now that there is no light for me in this life I am currently living. You should be happy for me now, dad. I’m better.”

          “Alan, you are not better. You are crazy. Just as you were as a kid. Always drawing scenes of death in school. Always trying to hurt yourself. Always being paranoid. Always hallucinating, seeing things that aren’t there. Always --”

          And before I knew it I had my father against the wall, hands around his neck.

          “Somebody call the police!” my aunt Cathy yelled.

          “MAYBE YOU’RE THE ONE THAT TURNED ME INTO THIS MONSTER. YOU MADE ME UNCOMFORTABLE WITH MYSELF SINCE DAY ONE! WHY ME?! WHY ME?! YOU NEVER TREATED ANYONE ELSE THIS WAY!” I screamed at my wicked family.

          I flung my father into the table. I hurried downstairs, and out the door. I got into my car and sped away. I pressed the pedal to the metal, and screamed angrily in my car, pounding on the steering wheel.

          It’s been so long since I lost control like that. Every word I said to my family at the table was a lie. I was not doing fine. The only truth there was is that I really am finally content with darkness. On that holiday, I wanted my family to understand that. I don’t think they understood it because they aren’t content with it. They live every day only thinking good things will come their way. So when the dark appears, they aren’t ready.

          The only bright thing I saw that day was the red and blue lights from the police car in my rearview mirror.

           ____________________________________________________________

          “Is that all?” Doctor Meridian asks.

          I nod.

          “Okay then,” the doctor acknowledges. “ Me and the rest of the team think it would be dangerous for you to be a part of society. Besides this incident, the rest of your past makes us think that you are not fit to be a part of social customs, as you have shown various signs of disorder, violence, and disruptive behavior. We think it best that you immediately go into solitary confinement for the remainder of your life.”

          Thank you, I thought.