Another Christmas and Confessions of a Loser

CW: Domestic abuse

It's Christmas again. Another time of the year when everyone is overly excited except me. For some reason, this time of year is not one of my favorites. I've always loved solitude, knowing that I have no commitment to anyone - alone against the world, or so I thought. Whether it's something I was born with or something I've built over time, I don't know, and I don't think I'll bother you with that. But this year is somehow different, maybe because it was much more difficult and stressful than the last one. The new position at work, and I barely talked to anyone outside work. Basically, a lot of work, and less time for myself. And when my boss told me that he was happy with the company's overall performance and especially the heads of departments, and that there would be a grand Christmas party this year, I felt excited like never before.

I immediately started thinking - "Oh my God, what am I going to wear... I don't have any clothes?!", and there were only 3 days left, my head already in complete chaos, again.

Not that this was the most important thing, but I was already the head of the marketing department, obviously without any experience in parties even sometimes getting panic attacks in large crowds. Some will say how I even got this promotion, anyway I just went to Mike, who was always on top of things.

"Mike, I need a favor."

"Anything!" - he didn't even ask, he just grinned.

"I need some fashion advice, I think you know why."

And Mike didn't even think twice.

"Listen," Mike said, "you're the head of the department, but you don't have to be formal. That's why I see you dressed in a smart casual style."

"That's great, but what the hell does that mean??" - I really didn't know what he meant by smart casual. I didn't even understand why it was so important to me.

“Jeans, clean. Preferably a classic white shirt. Chelsea boots, preferably navy. And a navy blazer, of course. I’ll leave the choice of accessories to you, but don’t forget the perfume I gave you last year!” – Mike said confidently.

“God, dude. You’re a fashion genius.” I replied, somehow already reassured by the fact that I had crossed one thing off my list.

Today I left work early to go shopping for clothes, like Mike confidently said in his own style, that the girls in HR wouldn't be able to take their eyes off me. I walked down the street, passing every store, thinking about what had gone so wrong in my life that I needed such advice. But these were definitely not the only thoughts running through my head. Yes, no matter how much a man is closed off and tries to show others that everything is more than okay, it is never okay, and no matter how much you try to discredit me, there is almost always a woman involved. Everyone has faced this, but we each perceive and overcome it differently. My first coping strategy was to have no strategy at all.

Her name is Mary, and we weren't even together. This is the worst. We were almost something for four years, and I spent another ten years acting like "almost" didn't count. But it definitely affects everything that happens to me. The girl of my dreams seemed to haunt me everywhere, not just in my thoughts. It's been over 10 years since we graduated from high school and went our separate ways, and she's been on my mind ever since. I tried going on dates, but none of them were perfect for me. Things like the way she ate, the way she held her fork, the way she tossed her hair with her hand, oh my, everything irritated me. None of them was Mary.

Mary. Merry Christmas.

Maybe I finally understand why I hate this time of year.

I kept walking until I stopped in front of a men's clothing store, and a young and beautiful lady in formal wear appeared from the doorway - "Good afternoon, sir, please come and check out our Christmas sales," she invited me with a smile.

I went in, and she showed me around the store.

"My name is Jade. What do you want me to show you?" she asked politely.

“I’m at a company Christmas party in 3 days, and I’m looking for something a little less formal…” I said, “But I’m not sure.”

She looked me up and down and said confidently, “I think I know exactly what you need.”

The store smelled of cologne and new fabric. Jade came back with a pile of hangers - a navy and a beige blazer, a white and a navy shirt, Chelsea boots - and arranged them as if she had read my mind.

“I don’t think you can go wrong with any combination,” she said confidently.

I walked into the fitting room, and she was standing at the front waiting for me to change so she could give me some advice. I walked out slowly, feeling as if I were stepping onto a stage. Jade tilted her head, looking me over like a sculptor examining her newly completed work.

“It’s not bad,” she said with a slight nod and folded her arms. “In fact, better than I expected.”

I wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or offended. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” I muttered, turning to the mirror to check myself out.

And there he was. A man in a blue blazer and Chelsea boots who looked like he was completely prepared. Oh for God sake, I felt like a stranger, like I was carrying someone else’s life.

After paying, I thanked Jade and promised to leave a glowing review, though she didn't need one—she was clearly built for success. I walked out with a carefully packed bag, my clothes folded tighter than my emotions, and took a deep breath of the freezing December air.

Three days. I could handle this; I had to.

The night of the Christmas party arrived, and a mix of nerves and a touch of stress. I stood outside the hall for a minute or two before I walked in. A converted warehouse, lights hanging from beam to beam, gentle jazz versions of Christmas songs playing overhead—and laughter already filling the space.

I noticed Mike right away. He raised his glass with a nod and whispered, “I told you so!”

I just smiled at him a little and shrugged like it was nothing. But it wasn’t nothing, it was almost everything.

People were coming up to me—not just the fake, professional greetings I was used to, but genuine ones. Warm ones.

“Hey! Wow, you look great!”

“I’m glad you could make it tonight, boss.”

“Are you finally relaxed?”

I just laughed—nervously.

I wasn't used to it - this warmth, this... belonging. For the first time in my own life, I wasn't an outsider. I was just a normal guy.

And then I saw her. Mary.

She was standing near the bar, her back slightly turned, holding a glass of wine and talking to one of the finance girls. Her blonde hair was loose, falling in soft waves down the back of her velvet dress - green, of course. She always looked good in green.

I literally froze.

Every thought I had rehearsed over the years evaporated like breath on cold glass. It had been years since I had had a real conversation with her, but here she was - as if time had passed everyone else by and forgotten her.

She turned, and our eyes met. Just for a second.

She smiled, the way you might smile at someone you remember from a dream.

I smiled back, I think. And then someone else said my name, and the moment was gone.

The party went on.

I tried to follow her—in a non-creepy way—from across the room. Sometimes she was dancing with someone. Sometimes she was laughing at a story. Sometimes she wasn’t there at all. And every time I saw her, it felt like something was pressing down on my chest.

I had a thousand excuses not to go talk to her.

She’s busy. She won’t remember me like that. She’s probably dating someone. It’ll be weird. Blah blah…

But underneath it all was just fear. That nothing would work. That I would speak up and she would smile and nod and walk away—and I would lose even the illusion.

So again I did nothing.

I just watched.

Towards the end of the evening, the room thinned out. The music had slowed. People were collecting their coats and calling taxis. I sat alone at a table near the edge, holding a half-empty glass of something I didn’t even like.

She hadn’t spoken to me. I hadn’t spoken to her either.

Another year, another failure. I stood up and took my phone out of my pocket to call a taxi. Cold air seeped through the half-open door. I could already feel the familiar weight returning—the old loneliness returning to its usual place.

The phone screen lit up, 1 new message. An unfamiliar number, strange. I opened it.

“I kept looking for the right moment to talk to you. I didn’t take it. I’m sorry. You still do that eyebrow thing when you’re nervous—some things don’t change. Next time… let’s not be strangers.”

I read it again. And again. There was no name. But it didn’t have to be. Mary. It could only be her. I stood there for a long time, staring at the message, my heart beating louder than the music still playing behind me. The noise in the room died down, the lights, the cold—everything went blurry. I didn’t answer. Not yet. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel the need to fill the silence. I just... let it be. And maybe that was enough. When I went outside, it started to snow—light flakes drifting like ash from the sky. I tilted my head up and let them melt on my face. Maybe this year wasn’t a total waste.

Maybe Christmas wasn’t just for other people.

Maybe next time I won’t be late.

Maybe I finally have a reason to show up.