The day after Thanksgiving I stopped by my local coffee shop, to grab a quick cup of coffee. When I walked through the door, I was assaulted with Christmas music. I understand that it is customary for businesses, radio stations and really everybody to play Christmas music before the turkey is eaten, but I don’t have to pretend to like it. As my ears were being raped with holiday cheer, my brain was trying to determine how I was going to cope with this reality and if I am capable of surviving the next month.
The Christmas music situation is adding a hint of desperation to my mood that I don’t remember being present in past years. I, especially, do not have the stomach for upbeat, cheerful or overly harmonized holiday songs. Particularly, when I hear Pentatonix sing Christmas tunes, it sparks immediate agitation. I have an over the top reaction, like I might die if I can’t make the music stop. I find myself acting like a irrational teen, and I don’t have the mental fortitude to holiday shop in a public place this year with this garbage blaring in the background.
I know I haven’t begun to run this holiday marathon, understanding that we are only in the first few days of December. I believe I might need to start a self imposed desensitization program in early fall each year in order to sink into my holiday depression slowly. My hope is that the music will start to resemble my stifled moans. I would like to disregard the music and go about my day, and approach this over-commercialized holiday and its tunes like I do when I encounter strangers on public transportation who insist on talking to me about their health conditions. I just close my eyes, go to my happy place, and wish for the encounter to end. Like bad sex. I don’t like these situations, but I can endure them. However, holiday music is a trigger for me. It’s the one thing that makes me feel like I could snap and have a true crime show featuring me.
I consider my reaction to Christmas music a medical condition and will proceed with caution. If you happen to see me in the next few weeks, I need you to know, I put Xanax on my Christmas list for Santa to bring. I realize now, it might be too late even if the fat man decides I deserve it and puts it in my stocking. I needed this med intervention days ago. For the next 20 days, I will attempt to control my simmering holiday rage and avoid that inmate fashioned florescent orange jumper for at least one more year.