So yeah. Thanksgiving. And stuff.

Stuff.

Lots of stuff.

Goddammit this is something I've done... well, let's call it a lot of times, and leave it at that. It's not something that should bother me any more. It's something I knew was the right choice, is the right choice. It's something I know I can survive just fine. It's something I consider unpleasant but overall, ok - certainly better than the alternatives would be!

...so why is it so hard?

And the answer is that it isn't, not really. Like I said, this choice was made before the problem even came up. It's just... Thanksgiving... Christmas... it's a time to celebrate family. The renewal of the year. And I know that when this is dealt with I'm going to end up spending Christmas in pain, crying, knowing it's stupid to even think this matters, knowing I did the right thing, and hating myself for it anyway. Holidays are hard enough.

I didn't need this.

It's my own fault, and I know that. Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to shuffle off blame, or to whine out of dealing with it... heh, like I could NOT deal with it, it's kind of unavoidable, one way or another. I just need to curl up and whimper here for a moment, 'k? Then I'll go back to being strong, determined Jax. But... just for a minute... just briefly... if I don't let this damn wave of hormones hit and get over with, they'll just add to the next wave, and the next, and...yeah. It'll get messy.

My own fault. My own doing. My own body fucking me over in a way that frankly shouldn't even be possible any more.

I'm going to go cry. Then I'm going to throw up, then I'm going to find some pickles or something to eat, then I'm going to go back to pretending, at least for today, that it's just another day and everything's ok.

Happy holidays, folks.