As if by way of an answer to my previous post, a major attachment that refuses to die with my previous lives just wafted to the surface.
I went downtown yesterday evening to get a prescription filled. I normally go to a pharmacy in downtown Portland to get my hormone pills because it’s on the way home from campus. They had the tree lit, stands selling roasted nuts, and on every corner someone singing a different Christmas carol. Something about it really struck at me harder than usual (last year I don’t think I got this depressed) but I didn’t know why.
Then this evening, I was watching a video by a British Youtube user who mentioned Christmas crackers, and it hit me just what was behind my generalized melancholy this holiday season: I’m homesick.
It’s been a hundred years since I’ve had a Christmas in England. My last one would have been 1914, only a short while before shipping off to France. I’ve been back to England since but I was never there for Christmas, though one year at my university they did serve us a Christmas dinner (it just wasn’t the same though, being surrounded by strangers and eating a very institutionalized version of the traditional classics).
Some of my strongest attachments are turning a century old now. Why can’t I just let go? I thought I was done crying for that life.
Maybe I won’t be done for a while yet. That’s why I can’t transcend: I still want something I lost nearly a century ago even though I go through life trying not to think about it and I’m not always aware that it’s bothering me.
I thought I was doing well at not letting the war get to me until tonight.