When November Ends: Succinct yet accurate recount of why I don't like this month

This is the month when my mind is most confused. Too fraught with emotions. Too plagued with conflicting thoughts. And I realize this is because of the many incidents that have happened in my past Novembers.

Incidents I'd rather forget or sleep through or simply turn my back from.

Like the 5th death anniversary. I didn't go. I didn't visit. In fact, I lied about my whereabouts when my other friends asked me if I was coming. They were at his house, with his parents, and they wanted me. I said I couldn't. That I was a province away when in fact, I was just a few villages from them.

I couldn't--ever--justify that. Except say that the last time I saw his grave was 5 years ago--when he was buried. And visiting was never something achievable. It's been 5 years and yet that one glitch in my careful mask of bravery still functions to the point of destruction.

I'm sorry.

And then there's my best friend's birthday. Which, this year, would be doubly hurting. Because this year's birthday is, well, the last that we would ever know to be in the way we used to.

I'm sorry. For what? For everything that has hurt and will still hurt. For breaking again and again even after those times I've declared my reconstruction completed.

Underneath all this is a current November ache. The exams. Which my parents didn't want me to take. Which contains what ifs that pain me to think about. Which I would have to say goodbye to, possibly permanently.

Three equally dismal thoughts that tear me to pieces. Pieces that I would have to pick up again, like I've done every November. Pieces that I would have to put together, only to have them break again.

And I fear the day when they will be broken beyond repair.

But until then, if it ever happens, I'll just sleep the whole thing off. And hope that next year will be a better one.

So just wake me up when November ends, will you?

It's Christmas next, after all.