Every year, around this time in December, I begin humming that familiar tune to the Counting Crows’unforgettably somber and thoroughly winter-themed ditty, “A Long December.” I know that most people our age used to save the lyrics of this sage song for their AIM chat statuses (excuse me, they were called “away messages,” weren’t they?) after Christmas had passed and before New Year’s eve, just to hit home the notion that it had, indeed, been a long December. For one reason or another (okay, go ahead and out me as the melancholy girl I am) I always began to feel the feelings meant to evoked from this song only just a week or so into the beloved Christmas month. I’m not sure why, but every December always seem to be a “long” one of sorts for me; this year that sentiment rings more true than ever.
I think a lot of it has something to do with my over-zealous holiday expectations. Each year, come September, I get so absurdly amped up for the upcoming autumnal/winter holiday festivities that I begin to create countdowns, and checklists, and reminders for others of holiday-themed happenings (I think) they should know about. I really get myself so adrenaline-crazed by the middle of October, that I’ve unknowingly and unintentionally self-sabotaged my own holiday cheer and completely exhausted myself mentally, physically, emotionally, spiritually… you name it, and it’s exhausted by this point. By the time Halloween rolls around, I’m usually so anxious over the idea of it already being over that I can’t even live in the moment, enjoying the absurdities of Fear Fest as I’m watching it. Halloween comes and goes, and all that’s left behind is a trail of wrappers, a candy-induced coma, and some residual nightmares from watching “The Exorcist.” Then it seems I’m one, done, and onto the next one, fixating on the wonder that is Thanksgiving, that beloved no-pressure-just-show-up-and-eat day--- making plans, drafting shopping lists, preparing dishes so far in advance I totally miss out on all the joys of autumn. By the third week in November, I’m already so disgusted by the idea of pounds of mashed potatoes and stinky turkey gut gravy, that I can barely make it through Thanksgiving day. From this moment on, my heart is set on Christmas—the main course of America’s holiday season.
In the past, I typically accomplish so very many Yuletide activities by the first week in December that my angst and impatience gets the best of me, and I force my family members to open the gifts I've purchased them early, just to bait down my insatiable hunger for voyeuristically and vicariously enjoying the act of watching others’ happiness in moments of receiving. Call me crazy, but I actually hate getting gifts, hate the thought of people watching me expectantly as I tear the wrapping paper, hate their guilt-inducing presence I feel as they await my reaction to their gift. I truly would love nothing more on Christmas than to sit back and enjoy the ambience of giving and receiving going on around me, looking on with content as my younger sisters react so genuinely to surprise gifts. I almost immediately become morose when the gift opening is nearing its finish, feeling that distinctive feeling of Christmas already passing by, with only New Year’s eve left, my least favorite of all holidays; a time designated to get inebriated, dress in sparkles, have your certain someone to smooch at midnight, and enact a fully-thought out list of resolutions all in the same godforsaken night. (Mainly I truly disliked this holiday due to the fact that, once I got to high school and started to receive New Year’s eve party invites, I was repeatedly unable to “achieve” any of those aforementioned holiday goals since I consistently told myself my body was undesirable and that I couldn’t have the normal life of every other 17-year-old girl). I also always dreaded writing down any resolutions because I knew each year they would read exactly the same: 1. Lose weight/ get skinny, 2. Continue acting, in hopes of one day becoming a famous actress, and 3. Fall in love. To say that I was bummed come January 1st each year is a kind understatement.
Back to the beginning here—I certainly feel that it has indeed been a long December thus far. December rolled in like a freight train, ready to pulverize me and the humble contents of my entire existence off of life’s tracks and into the expanse of an untraceable, off-the-grid “grey” area. As I’d mentioned in my last post, this fall hasn’t been the easiest for me, and it all seems to be reaching some sort of cataclysmic climax here in the first half of December. I won’t go into the nitty gritty pits of explaining why and how I’ve hit a personal rock bottom (or damn near rock bottom) level, but I will say it has already been a long, exasperating, depressing, unfair, unexpected, regrettable, damned December with regards to my health, my personal life, my home life, and my perpetual state of being down and out and unemployed at 24. The bad news is, these tumultuous past 10 days have left me feeling a bit dizzy with confusion and drenched in an overall feeling of being lost somewhere I’ve never travelled, left alone without a compass or map to ease my heightening anxiety. The good news, through all of it, is that all this “real” real-life drama has been distracting enough that I’ve actually yet to do anything at all having to do with Christmas. I’m not even slightly bogged down by the usual sense of overwhelming nostalgia/de ja vu/longing patina of years past and general dissatisfaction I typically self-inflict around Jesus’ birthday (uuhhhh). My head, though very troubled and saddened and perplexed, is currently clear enough to not fall into the trap of Christmas consumerism and Menorah-made materialism wherein impulses purchases are made on December 23rd and bags of Reese’s “trees” are passed around, leaving everyone with a “bowl-full-of-jelly” belly. I do wish I had a little more optimism to get excited about my own Christmas traditions, but one can’t force these things. I’m just not sure if I can rally myself around for all the cheer and social gatherings this year. Instead, I’ve been focusing my attention elsewhere, attempting to volunteer at several different places, reading and writing more than usual, getting in touch with old friends, travelling by myself, posting blog entries that are far too long, etc.
So, as the Counting Crows so hopefully rendered, “It’s been a long December and there’s reason to believe, maybe this year will be better than the last.” I hope this year will be better than the last, for everyone out there. And I’d really, truly love to hear from anyone about anything Holiday related—a horror story, a bone to pick, a fond memory, a plan, a tradition, your New Year’s resolutions, or just anything having to do with your current state of affairs as winter is headed your way. Please?
You always let others and society's expectations get to you way too much. Pretty much most other people feel like shit about the holidays too. I'm quite sure it's the time of year that the most people commit suicide. It's that kind of expectation of something that our culture has--that you should be happy to celebrate SOMETHING (what it is at this point, I truly do not know, other than, as you mentioned, consumerism) with your "loved ones" (what a vague phrase...at least for me...but probably not for others), and that if you aren't happy, something is wrong with you. The fact of the matter is this: December (and especially how you wrote about New Year's Even) is just like any other month, although it's colder than some of the warmer ones. The years cycle on forever, day by day, and ultimately what season it is truly does not matter (unless you are a seasonal plant or a bear with the potential to hibernate...and even then, doesn't matter that much). Live each day like it's a new one, unconnected to any other, to the best of your ability. Fuck New Year's resolutions. You really think most people keep those anyways? My favorite thing EVER is the huge rush of people who go to the gym in January, and then by the time you get to March, it has gone back to its usual numbers again. The people who are there all year round are the ones that want to be there. The ones only there in January are forcing themselves to do something they don't want to.
ReplyDeleteWhen you say you don't have the "normal life of a 17-year-old girl," well, I think the "normal" (in terms of what is average by the numbers at least) life of a girl that age probably is wishing she was skinnier or prettier or at least liked by more boys. I don't think that was just you . I know that when I'm at my unhappiest, I think that I'm alone and nobody knows what it's like to have my problems. You know, most people my age aren't heroin addicts, but everyone has their own issues. And I think a lot of people would understand where you're coming from if you'd let them.
I promise I didn't write this with a self-pitying intention, I was literally typing a journal entry as opposed to writing it out by hand, and then decided to just post it here. I certainly understand your gripes with what was said, but I wasn't saying any of it to ignite these kinds of responses or elicit sympathy from anyone... I was just thinking aloud.
ReplyDeleteHeh, welp, you know that posting on a blog is going to get you some responses. So I would imagine it'd be either sympathy/empathy, antipathy, or some sort of constructive criticism.
ReplyDeleteWell, that may be true, but I certainly wasn't trying to solicit anything specific. I wasn't writing this simply to bash myself, hopefully not everyone takes it that way.
ReplyDeleteThey will. And you WILL be shunned.
ReplyDeleteI can only hope.
ReplyDeleteDon't worry so much.
ReplyDeleteHaha, I know, right? Great advice, actually.
ReplyDelete