It’s the holidays – again.

So, it’s that time of the year again. This year, I won’t let Aunt Edna bother me when she asks why I’m not remarried. I won’t put up with Uncle Tom when he gets a little handsy. This year, I won’t take Cousin Hank’s negative comments about the meal personally, and I will allow myself to grieve but not get snowed under and allow grief to hijack what can be a joyful time of the year.

Truth, there are plenty of reasons not to love the holidays, and sometimes you may be unhappy. I think that’s the human condition as related to the holidays. But it’s equally true that this time of the year is about gratitude, starting with Thanksgiving (for obvious reasons!). Hanukkah celebrates gratitude for oil lasting eight days, and Christmas celebrates thankfulness for the birth of Christ.

I practice writing down three things I’m grateful for every evening before I go to bed. I have a specific journal meant for gratitude, but a spiral-bound notebook or a Moleskine journal would work just fine. I find the practice of gratitude keeps me grounded and helps me, especially at this time of the year. (Note: gratitudes can be specific events or thoughts, or, if you don’t feel as if you have anything to be grateful for, gratitudes can be simple, such as being grateful for having food to eat or having a roof over your head.)

I lost my sister, my half-brother, and my cousin, all between September and November of one year. There is a lot of accumulated grief for the rest of my family and me. Sometimes, it feels like there’s nothing but grief associated with the holidays. On my good days, I remember how fortunate I am to be alive, to be in relatively good health, to still have my mom, to be able to travel every six weeks to get treatment for my mental health, and to celebrate the holidays with friends and family.

Now, I stated I feel fortunate to be alive. I should qualify that: slightly more days than not, I feel lucky to be alive, lucky to have survived my suicide attempts. Then there are the days I wish to God that I was dead, the nights I go to sleep praying that I won’t wake up. The latter form of days is when the Beast that is suicidality rears its ugly head and sings the siren song of suicide that can be incredibly hard to resist – but resist you MUST.

Have I entirely put the Beast in his cage? No, I haven’t. Am I trying to? More days than not – but remember, I’m far from perfect! And I’m guessing that you might not have the Beast all locked up in its cage, either. So, we go through the holidays, trying our best to enjoy ourselves and not falling victim to the Beast in the moments we can’t easily find joy. Keep going. Keep looking for the joy.