You surround me like oxygen

The other day, there was a video posted about Christmas, with an accompanying tweet about "what do YOU like about Christmas?"

My initial reaction was anger. Betrayal,almost. Why? Why would I feel betrayed by this... a simple question.

With an all too simple, slightly insane, and definitely full of demons, answer.

When I was little, I loved Christmas. Who didn't? Most kids adored the time. There was pretty lights and candy canes and snowmen and snowfights and hot cocoa and, of course, good old Santa Clause. And my parents always got me awesome presents. I can't think of a time when I was disappointed or mad. They always tried so hard to give me a great holiday, and they succeeded (At least, as much as my 24 year old brain can remember.)

And then, as I grew older... as I saw life and experienced it, I grew to dislike the holiday. Why? Why would I hate a holiday that I once adored?

Because it is a holiday based on the principle of Christmas cheer. It is about warmth and happiness and giving and togetherness. And while the rest of the world enjoyed their happy-go-lucky holiday and their time with loved ones...

I sat.
Alone.

Yes, that's a little over simplified and over-dramatic. I know. But this links in with another demon I face as a 24 year old.

I am scared, utterly terrified, of losing the people I care about the most.

How, you might be saying, do these things link together? There's no commonality.

Ah, but there is.

Once upon a time I was a kid who was growing up and loved life. I had friends. I played. I was good at school/undeniably smart for my age. I had fun. I was a bully of sorts. My dad was never home and my mom was incapable of even holding a phone to her ear. But I loved my mom (and still do, obviously) and I didn't mind. She was the binding force of my life. She made everything make sense. She was the one who mentored me.

And, like that, she was gone.

So it started when I was 12, albeit it was very faint. My father, bless his soul, did what he could. But sometimes when bad things happen, you turn to the only thing you know. In his case, that would be alcohol. A... a lot of alcohol. It wasn't a Saturday night unless he was gone, out drinking. He sort of gave up on life. His 12 year old daughter had boys sleeping over, usually two at a time, and he didn't care. He'd sign a check for us for dinner and take his leave. Usually to stumble back in the door a little after 2. Sometimes he wouldn't come home at all.

The first few months of this were hell. I literally had no one. Remember, I was the pseudo-bully in class. People respected me out of fear. I swore a lot. I was a Tuff Kid. Inside, I was just... I was devastated. I failed school that year. I had no friends to confide in. The boys liked me because I was Tuff and Kool like them. The girls... well, fear.

I didn't tell people my feelings. I refused. I would never be so weak and, to this day, it's a thing I hate doing. Though, you'd never know it.

How could I, a 12 year old, possibly vocalize to anyone in my pretentious Catholic school the fear and agony of waiting up until 3am on a Sunday just to make sure your dad comes home? How can you possibly instill the emotions of crying yourself to sleep because you've already lost one parent and you never, ever see the other? Save for maybe a few fleeting moments after school. How do you explain to other 12 year olds who's biggest concern is N'SYNC or BSB what it's like to constantly fear hearing a knock on the door, only to see an officer tell you you're an orphan.?

It was from that moment that I began to attach myself to people.

Wait, no. It was that moment that I refused to attach myself to people. I think it took me a year to get to 'clingy jerkoff that never leaves'.

It was, of course, at this point that I spent most of my time alone. I had nothing anymore. My dad was gone all the time. My mom was gone forever. My friends had families and other friends. I had me. That's it.

Every Christmas, every Thanksgiving, every anything... I was alone. Probably eating frozen pizza and watching cartoons. Or softcore porn. It's amazing what they'll show on Cinamax and HBO after midnight.

I can think of one time in the last eleven years when I was legitimately (thought quietly) excited about Christmas. My reasons were selfish, sure. But I was happy and I went with it. It's amazing how being around people I love and care about can do that.

I don't hate Thanksgiving because I can watch football and distract myself. I request to work every year on Christmas because everyone has families to go to. People to see. Massive amounts of food to eat. I work every year on Christmas because I have absolutely no reason not to. Otherwise I sit and home and wonder what the fuck has gone wrong in my life to reduce me to a brooding, clingy taintstick.

And then I answer myself with a blog at 3am when I was ready for bed four hours ago. I amaze myself.

So, yes, I felt betrayed. Because, once again, Christmas has left me fucked and alone.

Is it a selfish reaction? Of course. Humans are selfish by nature. Is it a logical reaction? Eh. I guess with everything I just laid out, maybe. Is it rational? Not really. But then again, with a mind like mine, I've gotta have some weaknesses, right?

But, yes. That's why I hate Christmas. Because I am emotionally unstable and clingy and I secretly hate being alone.

God help us if I revert back to the silent, brooding, loner that I once was. I am a perfect and normal human being at this point compared to that. (And, thank-you-very-much I think I have been doing mostly awesome lately.)

And just when YOU think you know what to expect, here's this blog. Have fun lifting it. It's heavy.

[boom]