Tonight...I wrote
Yes, I broke the block. Did I further my story at all? I'm not sure yet, but I don't really have to worry about HOW to make it fit until December, right?
All I knew was that I needed to break the block, and I got lucky enough (or unlucky enough, depending on how you look at it) to have something strike a major nerve in me tonight, and it opened a floodgate on a topic I usually refuse to discuss.
So here it is, unedited and raw, straight from my burning fingers to you. 2,255 words in less than two hours.
I have gone about this entirely the wrong way. I am talking of the summers, of the Augusts, when really it is winter that moves me; it is winter that makes me hole up into a shell of myself, with walls and barriers all around, something to keep me safe, something to keep me whole.
Every year I start getting defensive earlier and earlier. It used to not start until after Halloween - my favorite holiday ever since I was a little kid, but as the years drag on and I get older and older, the earlier and earlier I start to build those walls. It has gotten to the point that as soon as the leaves start turning, and there’s that distinctive fall chill in the air, I can feel the chill creep into my heart.
I don’t do winter, and “I don’t do Christmas”. I utter that phrase over and over again, year after year, time after time after time. “I don’t do Christmas.” When I was younger, I would say that I “hated” Christmas and I would come up with all of these reasons why Christmas sucks. I would argue it from a standpoint of being against the rampant consumerism that seemed to take over the world. It’s just a scam to make more money, and to get everyone caught up in gifts. Giving gifts, receiving gifts, the “haves” of the world dropping tiny golden breadcrumbs into the lives of the “have-nots” and the “have-nots” of the world wishing they had more. More money, more hope, more food, more time, more life, more family…just more.
When people would counter with stories of love and compassion (all centered around the holiday, of course), I would argue that those are feelings that one should carry all the time, not just during the holidays. They would argue the “magic” of the season; I would argue a cultural Pavlovian response.
During my days of rejecting Christianity as a whole, I would argue it from the standpoint of religion. If I don’t believe in Jesus, why should I celebrate a holiday that most likely isn’t even the accurate day of his birth? And what about Santa Claus, Kris Kringle, Good Ol’ Saint Nick? What about him? Like I’m supposed to believe there’s some fat, magical man in a jolly red suit with flying reindeer and slave-like elves who do nothing that make toys all year round? And then I am ALSO supposed to believe that this same man, with his same magical flying reindeer goes around suspending time for one magical night, all over the whole world delivering said presents to little children? Only the good ones though, because he knows who has been bad or good, so “be good for goodness sake”.
I would argue it from the standpoint of Christmas never being all that important to me, I mean, it is just another day right? It is just another stupid day in the middle of winter and I hate winter. Yes, I have viable reasons for that too, reasons like my mother’s Seasonal Affective Depression Disorder, and how she would get SO miserable during the winter months, it was lucky we didn’t all commit suicide in that house.
I would argue, and I would argue, and I would argue. It was an inevitable stalemate, of course. I had no more chance of convincing people to hate Christmas any more than people had the chance of convincing me to love it. There was never going to be that “A HA” moment from either side. It wasn’t going to happen. Trying to argue Christmas is like trying to argue politics or religion, it just shouldn’t be done. Discussed, sure, but never argued. It just causes hostility between friends.
Over the years I mellowed out quite a bit. I switched from the dogma of “I hate Christmas, here are all my reasons why, and so you should hate it too”; to the dogma of “You have every right to celebrate a holiday that makes you happy, but please understand that personally, I just don’t do Christmas”. Unfortunately, people aren’t satisfied with that answer. Nope, it is my experience that most people just cannot handle that for my answer. There are, of course, exceptions to every rule, but “I don’t do Christmas” is not a valid statement to the vast majority of the people I know.
If it were, truly, a religious thing - if I were devoutly Jewish, or Wiccan, or Muslim, a Jehovah’s witness, or any other form of remotely recognized religion and I used that as justification for why I don’t do Christmas, I would be respected and the subject would be dropped. Unfortunately, religion isn’t the reason I shun your holiday every year. Religious beliefs are not the reason I don’t celebrate the Christmas holiday, so I’m not going to stoop to the use of religion as justification just to get people off my case about it.
So instead, I get pressed for answers. I may get pressed for answers out of concern, or curiosity, or as an evil and sadistic method of torture, but still, I get pressed for answers. The problem is, I have never really known how to give those answers. I mean I will throw out the generic “Christmas sucked for me growing up.” Or the ever popular, “I don’t really want to talk about it.” I have even offered slightly more detail about my Christmas experiences, like how I spent most of the season every year performing and competing and didn’t really have time to enjoy the holiday just for the sake of it being a holiday, or how my family always flew to Hawaii on Christmas day and no matter how much my mother tried, Christmas just doesn’t work if you change up the time table. For those who really press, they might get to the part where Christmas Eve and Christmas were days actually divided up and recorded in the divorce papers when my parents split up. I have not spent a Christmas day with my father since I was 8 years old. Should I even mention the years I was disowned and so couldn’t even spend Christmas Eve with my father because my step-mom and aunt wouldn’t allow me in their presence? No? I didn’t think so.
On extreme occasions when the conversation is pressed and I can manage to get through the above explanations without either shutting down, crying, changing the subject, or just becoming a hermit until that person can’t find me and ask me any more questions, I might get into explanation of the years where Christmas Eve or Christmas day (depending on the year) resulted in some serious trauma. Some years this trauma was physical, some years it was sexual, and some years it mental and / or emotional. I do (usually, somewhere) try to mention that as far back as I can remember, I do not remember a Christmas where I was happy, and felt loved and secure and safe. I came close a couple of times, but when I really slice it and dice it, I just can’t find one that isn’t flawed in a major way.
And still, often times, these explanations are not enough to get people to leave me alone. It is usually enough to make people understand where I am coming from, at least on a smaller scale, but really it just opens a completely different can of worms. Why? Because upon hearing all that, a lot of people start to feel sorry for me, and then they get on this quest to give me that perfect Christmas, to single handedly right all of the wrongs, and to heal a lifetime of pain and suffering. After all, it is Christmas, and miracles do happen during Christmas. I mean, they must, or there wouldn’t be so many movies and books about it, right? I am rolling my eyes right now, I know you can’t see it, but I am.
If I sound bitter about all this, I’m sorry, I truly am. It’s not that I hate Christmas, nor do I hate the people who try to shove it down my throats until I choke on it and throw up pure acid from the bottomless pit of my compassionless heart. It isn’t any of that. It’s that I have never found a way to effectively explain how I feel, how all of the questioning, the concern, and the good intentions make me feel. You see, to explain how I feel, I have to feel it, and really, you people don’t want that. You don’t know what you are asking for. And yet, it has been asked for, and so it shall be given, even though the tears are already running like rain down my flushed cheeks, and I taste the salt of past transgressions on my lips even as I try to type this all out.
You see, tonight, of all nights, here in the middle of November, while watching a stupid Christmas episode of a television show that’s not even on the air anymore, it all hit me. Christmas, and what it does to me. I don’t hate Christmas; to be angry would be preferable to how I really feel. I’m not indifferent to Christmas, for if I were, I could just merrily play along every year and no one would be the wiser.
No, it is never as simple as any of that. Christmas…well…Christmas breaks my heart. For all the reasons I’ve already touched upon, and for many more deep in my heart and soul that I don’t know if any amount of searching or personal growth will ever allow me to share. This time of year, it rips me to shreds, tiny little pieces of me die with every passing holiday, and they are pieces I can never get back.
And I get frustrated, because no one seems to understand. I place this giant metaphorical fence around myself every year with a big huge white sign (bold red lettering, all caps, included free of charge) that says KEEP OUT, DANGER ZONE. What my sign does not say is “PLEASE LAUNCH MISSLES OF LOVE AND CHRISTMAS GOODNESS INTO MY FORTRESS.”
Ladies and gentleman, readers, friends, family, comrades, anyone who sees this piece of writing and has any respect for me at all, please just leave me a shred of dignity. This is not a matter of me needing to be saved by the spirits of Christmas past, present, and future. I am not “The Grinch”, nor am I Ebenezer Scrooge (though I played his role in English class in 7th grade and 9th grade.) For me, this is simply a matter of self-preservation. I do what I have to do just to get through this time of year, every year. I have no interest in dragging anyone down with me; I just want a little peace.
Also, this does not indicate that I am ignorant of the happiness that surrounds a lot of my loved ones this time of year. There are even brief moments where the spirit touches me, and I soften just a little around the edges. Maybe I even put metaphorical little holly berries on the tips of my psychological barbed wire or something. I have been known to show up at church with a close friend, hug strangers, and even willingly sing Christmas carols. It’s not like I didn’t spend over ten years singing and performing every single Christmas. I doubt there is a Christmas song around (not counting all the random new pop singer Christmas albums) that I don’t know. I don’t think it’s pure coincidence that I can belt out a heartbreaking rendition of Oh Come All Ye Faithful when most of the time I don’t have the confidence to sing alone sans accompaniment. I even exchange a gift or two every year to my nearest and dearest. (Though, to be perfectly honest, I do that more out of respect for their celebration, not because I believe in the tradition itself.) I try to be kind to strangers, but I try to do that on a year round basis, because I still think that people should show that sort of love and compassion for more than a brief season during the year.
I don’t even really know what I can say to wrap this all up. I wish I could say writing this all down makes me feel better, but it doesn’t. If anything, I still resent the fact that I feel this need to explain myself, that I can’t just be accepted on the premise of “I don’t do Christmas.” But maybe, if nothing else, someone will read this who can relate to this, who will think “yeah, why DON’T people understand that Christmas isn’t for everyone?” If not that, maybe someone will read this, and think twice about forcing canned happiness from someone who clearly doesn’t want it. The fact that I don’t do Christmas does not mean I am a miserable soul, I just find my happiness in other ways. And for the most part, I am happy. I am happier when I don’t have to reopen these wounds every year just to explain to someone why I am not as happy about Christmas as they are, or they think I should be.
I am me, this is who I am, I am ever growing and ever changing, but for now, this is me. Take it or leave it.
All I knew was that I needed to break the block, and I got lucky enough (or unlucky enough, depending on how you look at it) to have something strike a major nerve in me tonight, and it opened a floodgate on a topic I usually refuse to discuss.
So here it is, unedited and raw, straight from my burning fingers to you. 2,255 words in less than two hours.
I have gone about this entirely the wrong way. I am talking of the summers, of the Augusts, when really it is winter that moves me; it is winter that makes me hole up into a shell of myself, with walls and barriers all around, something to keep me safe, something to keep me whole.
Every year I start getting defensive earlier and earlier. It used to not start until after Halloween - my favorite holiday ever since I was a little kid, but as the years drag on and I get older and older, the earlier and earlier I start to build those walls. It has gotten to the point that as soon as the leaves start turning, and there’s that distinctive fall chill in the air, I can feel the chill creep into my heart.
I don’t do winter, and “I don’t do Christmas”. I utter that phrase over and over again, year after year, time after time after time. “I don’t do Christmas.” When I was younger, I would say that I “hated” Christmas and I would come up with all of these reasons why Christmas sucks. I would argue it from a standpoint of being against the rampant consumerism that seemed to take over the world. It’s just a scam to make more money, and to get everyone caught up in gifts. Giving gifts, receiving gifts, the “haves” of the world dropping tiny golden breadcrumbs into the lives of the “have-nots” and the “have-nots” of the world wishing they had more. More money, more hope, more food, more time, more life, more family…just more.
When people would counter with stories of love and compassion (all centered around the holiday, of course), I would argue that those are feelings that one should carry all the time, not just during the holidays. They would argue the “magic” of the season; I would argue a cultural Pavlovian response.
During my days of rejecting Christianity as a whole, I would argue it from the standpoint of religion. If I don’t believe in Jesus, why should I celebrate a holiday that most likely isn’t even the accurate day of his birth? And what about Santa Claus, Kris Kringle, Good Ol’ Saint Nick? What about him? Like I’m supposed to believe there’s some fat, magical man in a jolly red suit with flying reindeer and slave-like elves who do nothing that make toys all year round? And then I am ALSO supposed to believe that this same man, with his same magical flying reindeer goes around suspending time for one magical night, all over the whole world delivering said presents to little children? Only the good ones though, because he knows who has been bad or good, so “be good for goodness sake”.
I would argue it from the standpoint of Christmas never being all that important to me, I mean, it is just another day right? It is just another stupid day in the middle of winter and I hate winter. Yes, I have viable reasons for that too, reasons like my mother’s Seasonal Affective Depression Disorder, and how she would get SO miserable during the winter months, it was lucky we didn’t all commit suicide in that house.
I would argue, and I would argue, and I would argue. It was an inevitable stalemate, of course. I had no more chance of convincing people to hate Christmas any more than people had the chance of convincing me to love it. There was never going to be that “A HA” moment from either side. It wasn’t going to happen. Trying to argue Christmas is like trying to argue politics or religion, it just shouldn’t be done. Discussed, sure, but never argued. It just causes hostility between friends.
Over the years I mellowed out quite a bit. I switched from the dogma of “I hate Christmas, here are all my reasons why, and so you should hate it too”; to the dogma of “You have every right to celebrate a holiday that makes you happy, but please understand that personally, I just don’t do Christmas”. Unfortunately, people aren’t satisfied with that answer. Nope, it is my experience that most people just cannot handle that for my answer. There are, of course, exceptions to every rule, but “I don’t do Christmas” is not a valid statement to the vast majority of the people I know.
If it were, truly, a religious thing - if I were devoutly Jewish, or Wiccan, or Muslim, a Jehovah’s witness, or any other form of remotely recognized religion and I used that as justification for why I don’t do Christmas, I would be respected and the subject would be dropped. Unfortunately, religion isn’t the reason I shun your holiday every year. Religious beliefs are not the reason I don’t celebrate the Christmas holiday, so I’m not going to stoop to the use of religion as justification just to get people off my case about it.
So instead, I get pressed for answers. I may get pressed for answers out of concern, or curiosity, or as an evil and sadistic method of torture, but still, I get pressed for answers. The problem is, I have never really known how to give those answers. I mean I will throw out the generic “Christmas sucked for me growing up.” Or the ever popular, “I don’t really want to talk about it.” I have even offered slightly more detail about my Christmas experiences, like how I spent most of the season every year performing and competing and didn’t really have time to enjoy the holiday just for the sake of it being a holiday, or how my family always flew to Hawaii on Christmas day and no matter how much my mother tried, Christmas just doesn’t work if you change up the time table. For those who really press, they might get to the part where Christmas Eve and Christmas were days actually divided up and recorded in the divorce papers when my parents split up. I have not spent a Christmas day with my father since I was 8 years old. Should I even mention the years I was disowned and so couldn’t even spend Christmas Eve with my father because my step-mom and aunt wouldn’t allow me in their presence? No? I didn’t think so.
On extreme occasions when the conversation is pressed and I can manage to get through the above explanations without either shutting down, crying, changing the subject, or just becoming a hermit until that person can’t find me and ask me any more questions, I might get into explanation of the years where Christmas Eve or Christmas day (depending on the year) resulted in some serious trauma. Some years this trauma was physical, some years it was sexual, and some years it mental and / or emotional. I do (usually, somewhere) try to mention that as far back as I can remember, I do not remember a Christmas where I was happy, and felt loved and secure and safe. I came close a couple of times, but when I really slice it and dice it, I just can’t find one that isn’t flawed in a major way.
And still, often times, these explanations are not enough to get people to leave me alone. It is usually enough to make people understand where I am coming from, at least on a smaller scale, but really it just opens a completely different can of worms. Why? Because upon hearing all that, a lot of people start to feel sorry for me, and then they get on this quest to give me that perfect Christmas, to single handedly right all of the wrongs, and to heal a lifetime of pain and suffering. After all, it is Christmas, and miracles do happen during Christmas. I mean, they must, or there wouldn’t be so many movies and books about it, right? I am rolling my eyes right now, I know you can’t see it, but I am.
If I sound bitter about all this, I’m sorry, I truly am. It’s not that I hate Christmas, nor do I hate the people who try to shove it down my throats until I choke on it and throw up pure acid from the bottomless pit of my compassionless heart. It isn’t any of that. It’s that I have never found a way to effectively explain how I feel, how all of the questioning, the concern, and the good intentions make me feel. You see, to explain how I feel, I have to feel it, and really, you people don’t want that. You don’t know what you are asking for. And yet, it has been asked for, and so it shall be given, even though the tears are already running like rain down my flushed cheeks, and I taste the salt of past transgressions on my lips even as I try to type this all out.
You see, tonight, of all nights, here in the middle of November, while watching a stupid Christmas episode of a television show that’s not even on the air anymore, it all hit me. Christmas, and what it does to me. I don’t hate Christmas; to be angry would be preferable to how I really feel. I’m not indifferent to Christmas, for if I were, I could just merrily play along every year and no one would be the wiser.
No, it is never as simple as any of that. Christmas…well…Christmas breaks my heart. For all the reasons I’ve already touched upon, and for many more deep in my heart and soul that I don’t know if any amount of searching or personal growth will ever allow me to share. This time of year, it rips me to shreds, tiny little pieces of me die with every passing holiday, and they are pieces I can never get back.
And I get frustrated, because no one seems to understand. I place this giant metaphorical fence around myself every year with a big huge white sign (bold red lettering, all caps, included free of charge) that says KEEP OUT, DANGER ZONE. What my sign does not say is “PLEASE LAUNCH MISSLES OF LOVE AND CHRISTMAS GOODNESS INTO MY FORTRESS.”
Ladies and gentleman, readers, friends, family, comrades, anyone who sees this piece of writing and has any respect for me at all, please just leave me a shred of dignity. This is not a matter of me needing to be saved by the spirits of Christmas past, present, and future. I am not “The Grinch”, nor am I Ebenezer Scrooge (though I played his role in English class in 7th grade and 9th grade.) For me, this is simply a matter of self-preservation. I do what I have to do just to get through this time of year, every year. I have no interest in dragging anyone down with me; I just want a little peace.
Also, this does not indicate that I am ignorant of the happiness that surrounds a lot of my loved ones this time of year. There are even brief moments where the spirit touches me, and I soften just a little around the edges. Maybe I even put metaphorical little holly berries on the tips of my psychological barbed wire or something. I have been known to show up at church with a close friend, hug strangers, and even willingly sing Christmas carols. It’s not like I didn’t spend over ten years singing and performing every single Christmas. I doubt there is a Christmas song around (not counting all the random new pop singer Christmas albums) that I don’t know. I don’t think it’s pure coincidence that I can belt out a heartbreaking rendition of Oh Come All Ye Faithful when most of the time I don’t have the confidence to sing alone sans accompaniment. I even exchange a gift or two every year to my nearest and dearest. (Though, to be perfectly honest, I do that more out of respect for their celebration, not because I believe in the tradition itself.) I try to be kind to strangers, but I try to do that on a year round basis, because I still think that people should show that sort of love and compassion for more than a brief season during the year.
I don’t even really know what I can say to wrap this all up. I wish I could say writing this all down makes me feel better, but it doesn’t. If anything, I still resent the fact that I feel this need to explain myself, that I can’t just be accepted on the premise of “I don’t do Christmas.” But maybe, if nothing else, someone will read this who can relate to this, who will think “yeah, why DON’T people understand that Christmas isn’t for everyone?” If not that, maybe someone will read this, and think twice about forcing canned happiness from someone who clearly doesn’t want it. The fact that I don’t do Christmas does not mean I am a miserable soul, I just find my happiness in other ways. And for the most part, I am happy. I am happier when I don’t have to reopen these wounds every year just to explain to someone why I am not as happy about Christmas as they are, or they think I should be.
I am me, this is who I am, I am ever growing and ever changing, but for now, this is me. Take it or leave it.