I don’t hate the holidays; I just don’t see the point.
When I was 14 my mother became a Jehovah’s Witness. As a result we stopped celebrating all holidays and birthdays. It sucked. I no longer got gifts on the days of celebration but around instead. My mother gave me a gift box of nail polish on December 23rd as a gift instead of a present. As the years progressed I grew alienated from both my family and holidays. I went to school on the other side of the state and after graduation moved halfway across the U.S.. I’ve since celebrated holidays 1) alone 2) with friends or 3) with friend’s families. It’s more painful to sit with family members who don’t belong to you and smile and laugh with them as if they do, than it is to rent movies, cook a “non-festive” meal, and do whatever the hell I want. Except his family was different. I felt welcome, wanted, and at home. I’ll miss that.
Just yesterday his mom said I could stay at her place whenever I want — I don’t think I can do that.
I don’t understand. People earn money, save money, improve their credit score, apply for more credit only to spend that money, damage that credit score, and eat into their savings for “things.” Buying gifts they can’t afford and they’re not quite sure the recipient will like. Things the world can do without. I don’t get it.
So, I spent this past holiday watching movies, eating food, and working from the comfort of my own home with le pup at my side. I liked it. I’d love to spend my holidays that way with someone I love. Doing nothing that involves stress or traveling. Just eating, sleeping and doing nothing. Except maybe a hike. Yes, a hike; I’d like that.
If I were a psychologist I would look at my imaginary case file and say “Ahh, zis (apparently I’d be Eastern European) iz unhnt klassik kase of awfwoidance. As child you experienced mush tkrauma. You are awfwoiding celebrations because it reminds you too mush of your troubled past.”
Yes, that is damn right. I’m avoiding my troubled past because it sucks ass. I hate that my family sucks. I kinda wish that I had a great family and a well adjusted childhood. But, I don’t and so I have to be a peace with my dysfunctions. Whoever loves me also has to be at peace with them. Because more often than not I appear to be completely normal and well-adjusted. But, sometimes, in the privacy of my own home and the intimacy of my own relationships I lose it. I pity myself, cry, wish for a better past, and mourn the one that never was. I go to a very bad place. But, that’s just sometimes. Not often.
I’m glad my dysfunctional familial machine created a strange android such as myself. All-in-all, I like me. I’d be lying if I said I love me, but like will do just fine for now. If I could erase some of the things that happened to me I would — but not at the expense of who I am. I’d only do it If I could be a better version of myself. And, seeing as though I’m not in control of that I’ll stick with the me I have and my Eastern European psychologist can take his imaginary case file and shove it.