my break up letter to santa

Santa, Santa, Santa.

I’m not sure how much longer we can go on like this. I’m afraid that we’re just not good for each other anymore.

Every year, I think it’s going to be different, but you don’t ever really change.

You ask me what I want, but I don’t feel like you’re really listening. You don’t make me feel special. It’s like I’m one of many you’re trying to please.

You ask me to believe in you. If it were just that simple.

The thing is Santa, you’re a little high maintenance. And set in your ways. You demand so much of me. It’s draining and exhausting to keep up this charade. I do everything for you. EVERYTHING. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t even be able to function let alone exist.

Have you looked in the mirror recently Santa? You’re blowing up babe. You won’t let go of the cookies or lay off the egg nog and I don’t know how to talk to you about this because, you’re never present. Like really here with me.

I feel like you don’t even know me. Sometimes when I see you out, at the mall or around town, it’s like the years we’ve spent together mean nothing. You try to make up for it by being all jolly and twinkly-eyed, but it’s losing its charm Santa.

I reach out to you over and over with long letters, telling you exactly what I want. And you, well you show up once a year and expect to be worshipped. It’s like you don’t even hear what I’m really asking you for. You’re just so – unavailable.

We’re using each other Santa. We’re stuck in a toxic cycle. I use our relationship to get people to do what I want them to do. Just mentioning your name, gives me an intoxicating sense of power.

No matter how poorly I behave, you shower me with gifts keeping me trapped in your sticky web of deceit and unfulfilled expectations. You need me to validate everything that you do. This little dance of ours, it’s getting old.

But oh Santa, I can’t seem to stop. Every year, it gets harder. These December days I see your face everywhere.

I guess deep down I know that we’ll stay together and that things can never really change.

So can I sit on your lap one more time? And when I see you at the mall, please stop calling me a ho. It only makes it worse.