I hate Christmas.
Ok.
I said it.
I hate the very idea of decorating our homes, with bright, shimmering lights, in the middle of Fall. Yes, Fall.
Feel free to hate me at the very core of my ignorance but I am just not ready to inundate my senses with all these magical grand illusions of twinkling lights and enchanted ferries.
I hate Christmas.
I hate many things, but I definitely hate Christmas.
I hate the fact that everything is on sale. That black Friday is upon us. That everyone is rushing around trying to buy something, anything. It seems like everyone is planning their Christmas or March Break vacations, Christmas dinners, or how to not make an ass of themselves at the office Christmas party. At least not this year. Or at least not anymore.
But for me the world got really dark.
For me, I entered into an all-consuming period of loneliness.
I am not sure what I did to deserve becoming its lovely host, each and every year since I was a small child, but I have resigned myself not to resist anymore. Darkness has become my lovely friend.
These days, the sun rises late, and it sets far too early. The few moments of sunshine that are left, I ignore, by working in an ugly portable, away from what matters, pretending that I know something.
Please forgive me if I don’t get overly excited over tinsel and stockings. Forgive me if I don’t get overly excited to rush around, fighting for a parking spot of a crowded mall, while trying to imagine what to buy, and what joy it will be when I pay it off, a year from now, or at some point, I’m sure. I’m so grateful to the credit companies for their generosity and extended credit at this, my greatest time of need.
I’m lonely and I strangely alienated. I’m a Scrooge, devoid of all magical Holiday Spirit. Yes, I am a cancer to your glee and generosity. In November. Yes, November.
They say that a child ends up spending less than fifteen minutes playing with their Christmas present before they get bored and look to do something else.
Fifteen minutes.
Is it worth it.
I don’t really hate Christmas.
I like it.
I just wish we were nicer to each other, especially through the dark days of November and December. I wish we didn’t pretend to care when we don’t. That we didn’t make promises, we don’t intend to keep. I wish we were a little more human. A little more lonely.
I wish we were more in touch with our loneliness.
Being lonely is not easy, but I no longer run away from its embrace.
I am lucky that I have never looked for shelter with drugs or alcohol. I don’t distract myself with binge watching television shows or get engrossed with the latest gossip on the internet. I struggle with overeating at times, that’s for sure. Food is my drug of choice. My dirty habit, but even here, I’ve managed to find a teeter totter type of balance of sorts.
We are lonely people.
Why do we treat our loneliness as a morbid debilitating disease?
Why are we not kinder to ourselves?
We are just longing for something. Searching for something. We want to know we are not alone.
At this time of year, I miss my mom and dad the most. I wonder when it will be my turn, and if I will be missed at all. I look back and smile at the silly things I’ve done and the mistakes I’ve made. I glance back at all the dreams that are still unfulfilled and most of all I long to live the rest of my days with a deeper purpose, with more meaning.
There is no reason to hate Christmas.
There is no reason to hate loneliness either.
As long as you don’t face it down alone.
