Maybe it's time for me to just come right out and say,
"I hate Christmas."
Do I hate Christmas, though? I don't really know. I know it hasn't been the same for me in many years now, and I know the glow of mechanical lights and the imagery of a mystical being who doesn't actually exist, don't make things go away, or get better.
This time of year makes people so angry and hostile, even those who claim to love it.
I'd rather just skip it.
I think of how much happier people seem to be during Halloween, when nothing is forced. People celebrate because they want to; perhaps having the desire to be someone else, or escape their own reality for a little while. Pretend not to be so afraid. Whatever it is. It's total freedom.
I look around as Christmas gets closer and feel like everyone has forgotten. As if they'd rather be obligated than free. I look at the houses that used to seem so alive, ironic in the season of death, and see pumpkins lined up unceremoniously...for slaughter? Can you truly slaughter a pumpkin?
Perhaps not, but the distinct difference between October, even November, pumpkins, and December pumpkins, is evident. Once so revered, and now just discarded, as if their owners want to forget, as if they're tween-age children, hastily shoving their dolls away before friends come over, because no one can know.
I will stand by the fact that Halloween ends the most abruptly of all holidays until I die. And it's only gotten worse as the descent into Christmas madness begins earlier and earlier each year.
It's almost two weeks away, still, yet it feels as though it's been December for a long while. And Halloween feels like it was ages ago, or never happened at all.
I may hate summer, but at least I know, in summer, we're getting closer.
All I have in December is the image of a pumpkin by a garbage can, waiting to be taken away. Drained of energy and magic. Tired. Fading away. Perhaps like me.
And I feel further from myself than ever, as I kick and scream to get away from those that want to force-feed me this manufactured joy.
Why do we need calendars to tell us who to be? Or when it's okay to be who we are?
Maybe it's just too easy to go blind this time of year. Or maybe my merry and bright just looks different.
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