I Used To Hate Christmas
Until it gave me a most unexpected gift
For countless people on the planet, “childhood” is a loaded word. Throw in “memories,” and now you’ve got the makings for a sudden slide into a dark and painful place. One that can suck you in like quicksand, leaving you fighting for your life in every meaningful way.
Most of the time, you’re able to shove those demons to the back of your mind, whether by distracting yourself with work or perhaps with more sinister means. Anything that dulls those razor-sharp claws that have sunk deep into your throat.
But then the calendar taunts you. Appointed human-made “dates” that burn like acid straight through to your soul at the very thought of them. An anniversary of some sort. A birthday. A memorable-for-all-the-wrong-reasons holiday or other event.
Or a supposedly “festive” season that is anything but.
Cue Christmas, one of the most commonly celebrated holidays in the world (if not the most, depending on which source you read). And I use the term “celebrated” loosely because far too many people are merely participating in it, albeit reluctantly, for various reasons. Not the least of which is that it amplifies every painful, rotten aspect of family difficulties that are all too often still present. Estrangements. Abandonment. Abuse…
