Oops, I hear Jingle-Bells on TV. Santa’s season is around the corner.

The sled of depression is coming, it is on full swing from 24 December until 2 January and I am back to my stupid self by, latest, end of January.
It is the same every year and the degrees vary. Last year it was pretty drawn and bad. I hate Christmas, New Year and my birthday in between.
It’s been decades that I don’t send the promotional Christmas cards. I keep quiet for my birthday and dread the wishes attached to that day. Recently my mother corrected me on my age, for the last 10 years I made myself older and kept the count static for the last five. I know my date of birth but stop bothering tallying.
New Year is better, not that I go anywhere but I do one invite, a bottle of champagne or at least wine. My reflection in a mirror is the person I puke my pains.

I understand holiday depression. I don’t know for others but I know where mine comes from.
Christmas with post cards freunions from few people who took me as their relatives. Then it decreased to zero, the lowest integer.
The people are still around but distance and lack of family binding made us latch each other off. Aarrgh! Families are so complex.

I hate Christmas Carols in streets, stores and from whatever machine emitting sound to the public. I loath ribbons, the color red, sleds, ringing bells, twinkling lights, gift wrap, pine trees and oh, oh, oh and snow. Cold makes me colder and I hate the snow’s contrast against my dark gray world.

I don’t understand the importance of birthdays. I don’t wish to receive impotent congratulations via phones from subjects which I see once a year. Why should anyone care about my new cycle of tomorrows when they were not part of my yesterdays?
A “what’s up” from a neighbor is more comforting.

New Year is different; the concept of family does not come in. So you can be jolly with anyone even the strangers. I don’t, but the thought is there.

I dodge during my depressive season, dodge people carrying gifts, doge people going places and dodge questions about whom and where I gift.
I buy nothing and go nowhere. I keep to my pledge of staying alone. Open pledge made to none but to my years of spending the holiday season alone.
It has been my tradition since … almost the beginning of my dysfunctional life, I am a dodger.

I am not territorial and do not think I am the only one in the predicament of the holiday season. Sorry, but depression is like smoking. Unless you are an ex-smoker, it is hard to understand. Why do you smoke? Why you depress?

That’s the season of sad songs anchoring my morbid state of mind. Stepping back and watching family reunion makes me weep. I cut myself from sites and put my phone on silent and retrospect on my worth.

As a kid I had a security blanket, more a net with multicolored threads than a blanket. It let my entire memories trough and left me with hollows during the holiday’s season.

I’ll wait for January, I do the same every year.



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