The day after Thanksgiving I was in my local coffee shop grabbing a quick cup of coffee while I was on my way to work. As I walked in the door, I was assaulted with Christmas music. I understand that it is customary for businesses, radio stations and really everybody to start to play Christmas music before the turkey is even cold. But as my ears were being raped with holiday cheer, my brain was trying to determine just how I was going to cope with this reality and how I was going to survive the next month. I already have a slough of self harming rituals that I perform on a weekly basis in order to continue to exist on this planet. I’m not sure I can squeeze one more in my already full daily schedule. It is a balancing act that includes so many things that I could go on for days and days listing them one by one. The one thing that my daughter pointed out that I have been doing unbeknownst to me is talking to myself, a shit ton….morning to night. I am not certain what I say to myself, but I think I mostly repeat, “Are you fucking kidding me? several times throughout the day, especially when I am looking in the mirror, but the mirror and the phrase are not mutually exclusive.
However, this Christmas music situation is adding a hint of desperation to my mood that I don’t remember being present in past holiday seasons. I feel like someone who is allergic to the sun, like a vampire. But it’s not the sun, it’s festive melodies. I have a over the top reaction, like I just might die if I can’t make it stop. I find myself almost cursing at the tunes, like a irrational teen. If I hear Christmas music I must turn it off if I have the ability or flee from it if I have no power to quiet it down. I don’t believe I will have the mental fortitude to holiday shop in a public place this year. I might make it only 20 minutes before I am on the hunt for a sharp object to cut myself to relieve the heart crushing anger that this cheerful music stirs. I know what you’re thinking, Christmas music and blood don’t go together, but I disagree. If I wear green and cut just a little, the blood, I think, will really put me in the holiday spirit.
I realize it’s not even December yet. I know that I haven’t begun to run this Holiday marathon. Oh, Sorry, this Christmas marathon. I didn’t mean to offend any Christians out there. I believe that I might need to start a desensitization program to sink into this holiday season slowly, like I do when I take a nice warm bath. My hope is that the music will start to resemble the stifled moans that come from my cold dark heart, and I will disregard the music like I do the moans and go about my normal day, numb and robotic. I want to approach the harmonized over-commercialized arrangements like I do with people I happened to know and whom I really don’t care for, or unpleasant medical procedures. For example, I recently got a shot of cortisone for a overuse injury. This was not something I liked, but I tolerated this just like I do when people talk to me in elevators about the weather or when strangers talk to me about their health conditions on public transportation. I don’t like it, but I don’t get rabid. However, holiday music is my Achilles heel, the thing that makes me feel like Kirk Douglas in the movie, “Falling Down”. For now, I will just consider this a condition and will proceed with caution. If you happen to see me in the next 29 days and if you have a spare Xanax, feel free to slip it in my Christmas Stocking or directly into my fancy holiday Starbucks cup. Heck, I will even try to catch in my mouth, like a dog, if you throw it in air as an early Christmas present. I did put it on my Christmas list, but I believe that I didn’t make the cut on Santa’s nice list this year, so I am not holding my breath.