Dilemma...bad...nooo...

Thanksgiving is when Adam and I traditionally visit my parents in Sag Harbor. This Thanksgiving--or rather, the 28th--is also when a comic convention will be held, of all places, in New York City. A Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles convention. Finally. Many of my mailing list pen pals, friends I've known online for years, will be there. And I won't be going because family is much more important to me than comic books. Still...How much does that suck? If it were any other Friday, I'd take time off work and go in a heartbeat. Why the hell did they have to place it on a holiday? Especially one where people traditionally see family? That's just dumb. I would have loved to go. I'd still give anything to go to next year's San Diego Comic Con. Everyone is guaranteed to be there. Only problem is, I don't think Kevin Eastman will be. I think he's finally bowing out of the TMNT franchise and handing it back to Peter Laird. He's concentrating on the Heavy Metal franchise now. What I wouldn't give to have met him and Julie Strain, just once. I mean, he married Julie Strain, porn star, model, Heavy Metal inspiration, six-feet-tall Amazon goddess. Now we know why April O'Neil's hairstyle changed in the original Mirage comics from Irish red to curly black. Eastman stopped dating her namesake lookalike and went for Julie. Hell, I'd do it.
But I wish I could go. No...I wish it could be some other day. That's what I wish. Grr. Argh.

Hold me thrill me kiss me kill me. Yes.

Maybe it's the rain. Maybe it's my hormones being self-destructive during this heavy menstrual bleeding. Maybe I'm empathically pulling from someone else. Maybe it's my painfully sore arm muscles, which have started building up. But this is one of the most internally violent, darkest little depressions I've been in. It struck without warning. It makes me want to punch anyone who looks at me funny. It's exhausting my body without telling it first. It makes me want to collapse on my bed and sleep for a day and a half. It makes me want to hurt myself.
It makes me hate myself.
All I want is for someone to hold me, kiss me tell me it's okay while they stroke my hair. I don't want sympathy or pity. I don't want a "It's life, deal with it" or "It's all in your mind, deal with it." I want "It's okay. Here, pet a kitten."
But I'm not going to get that. People will already be depressed and angry about the day and will be in no mood to comfort and placate poor me. Time to curl up with a pillow in the dark--and maybe something sharp silver shiny, just to remind myself that I could, if I wanted to.
But that's not what I really want either. I want out of the dark. I want to smile. I can't make myself smile and mean it. My eyes don't mean it. I wonder if I need to consider going on my birth control pills continuously, skipping my periods, just to elevate my moods. I can't stand feeling this way. It must stop.
Someone just hold me. Please?