I took my mother to Walmart today, as I do every Saturday, and immediately realized, as I pulled into the parking lot, the season of hell had begun. Anxiety churned in my empty stomach and rose into my throat, prompting my neuro-sensors to go into over-drive. I literally had to bite my tongue to stop myself from spewing the four-letter words building in my speech center, until I could drop mom off at the front entrance. As soon as she got out and shut the door, the cursing began and continued on until I found a decent spot to park and could pull myself together. I despise Walmart on a good day; this time of year magnifies that disdain by a thousand. Today began my ritual desire to be put into a medically induced coma until December 31st, at which time, I can be awaken, just in time, to give the year a final middle-finger-salute and grasp at some hope for a better year ahead.
As you can see, I don't do Christmas well. I never fully enjoy it; the best part of Christmas is Christmas night, when it's all over with. I don't like Christmas music, Christmas decorations, Christmas movies...pretty much anything that pertains to Christmas is not high on my "happy times" list.
I suffer with PTSD. I was a single mother, working to make just enough to keep a roof over our head, food on the table, and utilities on. I never wanted to disappoint my kids and thus I did what I could to make sure they had a decent Christmas. I stressed for weeks (beginning the week of Thanksgiving) and would stress every day, all day long, until the season was over. I cried every day worrying about how I was going to pull it off again. I didn't sleep much and when I did, it was restless and worrisome.
People often say to me, "but your kids are grown, you have a great job making decent money; why does it still bother you?" I put myself through hell for years; that kind of mental trauma doesn't just go away. It is triggered by the things so many love about this time of year. Music, shopping, cold weather, commercials; these things are hell to me and most of the time I bury it down so I don't bum everybody else out. If you notice me not being my bubbly self, now you know why. I am constantly struggling to keep the madness contained and always feel as though, at any given moment, I might have a come-apart to beat all come-aparts.
There are more people like myself than anybody knows. We suffer alone, putting on that fake smile and wishing everybody "Merry Christmas" when, inside our brains, we are saying, "Merry F'en Christmas". We have to give ourselves pep talks any time we have to go into public and especially if we have to go into a store that is blaring "Jingle Bells", "Have a Holly Jolly Christmas", or "Jingle Bell Rock". I have been known to walk by a speaker in a store and give it the bird. The only Christmas song we enjoy is "Silent Night" because it is the one song that gives us hope for a silent night.
I am not a bad person. I am a really good person who just really hates Christmas and every second of the over-materialized productions that surround it. Every year, those productions seems to start earlier than the last. This year, before Halloween was even over, Christmas shit was being stocked onto the shelves. Anymore they just lump Thanksgiving into Christmas so that they can get a jump on pushing their Christmas cheer. Assholes.
I am a scrooge; no doubt about it. I don't enjoy not enjoying this time of year while everybody else is humming their little songs and sending out Christmas cards, and baking Christmas cookies and planning Christmas parties........AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH If you see me and ask if I'm ok, I'm going to say "yes" but I want to say "no". I try not to ruin anybody's Christmas cheer; I don't want to be a Debbie Downer. I can usually hold it together pretty well until a few days before Christmas Day. Usually because I put off finishing my shopping until I can no longer put it off so I'm already jacked up on anxiety and Drpepper when I go out into the Christmas public. At least one time a year I let somebody have it. It's never somebody innocent; I'm not that much of a shit. It's usually somebody who is being a shit to a cashier and needs a come-to-jesus moment. All my pent up stress and anxiety comes spewing out in the most beautiful torrents of cursing, spit, and tears. It is a wonder I have not had the holy crap beaten out of me by now but really, would you mess with a crazed woman at Christmas? Don't; just don't.
There will be some reading this who will say they had no idea I go through this every year. I mask it well, up to a point. There will be some reading this who are probably crying because they might have thought, all these years, they were the only ones that hate this time of year. Along with how much we despise Christmas, we also have the burden of guilt for hating Christmas. It's complicated and to most, it makes no sense, but to us, it is completely logical.
Don't go out of your way to get out of my way. Continue on with your thing; I will still smile and say the words and pretend as though all is right in my world. I promise I will not attack you for wishing me a Merry Christmas, for sending me a Christmas card, and especially for making those Christmas cookies. I appreciate you as I know you are not to blame for my malfunctioning Christmas Spirit.
I love you all.
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