It's beginning to look a lot like Prozac

I'm not a fan of drugs, really. I mean, I love morphine, I can't lie, but only because the only time I ever experienced its effects, I was in a lot of pain and it made it go away. Well, it didn't go away, I just didn't care about it anymore. It was like that when I had my third child and got to have drugs in labor. Demoral? Stadol? I don't know. I'm not entirely sure it isn't because of said drugs that he is the way he is, but I wouldn't have done it differently had I known then what I know now.
ANYWAY, let it be known that I am not a fan of serious narcotics. That should make what I am about to say a lot more... powerful.
I hate Christmas. I used to like it when I was little and living in Virginia. It was just me, my sister Mandie, my mom, and Granny. The first conscious memory I have of Christmas was in Virginia, and I had to be about 3 or 4. Granny bought Mandie and I some slippers, and we got to open them early. We ended up wearing them to some kind of Christmas party, which was probably at our church. But I remember sticking my slippers under the lamp shade for the light bulb to heat them up. And I remember waking up Christmas morning to a huge fire, presents under the tree, and Rum Butter lifesavers in our stocking, along with nuts, a big peppermint stick, and an orange. I can't remember any other gifts I got, and there may not have been any. But I know Granny was sitting in the rocking chair, looking all happy and glowing, watching Mandie and I play on the floor. It seems like maybe that was when I got my first Lite Brite. Could be.
Fast forward about 5 years. I'm probably 8 or 9. It's about two weeks before Christmas and I am awakened in the middle of the night (could have been 8 p.m.; who knows) by the voice of my birth father, singing, "Chestnuts roasting on an open fire. Jack Frost nipping at your nose..." He used to sing that to us when we were little, and I hadn't seen him because he was in prison. But there he was. And he brought gifts, too. A Rainbow Brite horse... I think his name was Starlite. A horse and foal tapestry to hang on my wall. For Mandie, it was a white Sprite, also from Rainbow Brite, and a teddy bear radio. He spent about three days with us before he was gone again. I have no idea where he went, but I didn't hear from him again for about 14 years. But every time I hear that song, I remember that night. I still have that tapestry hanging on my wall, within reach of the very computer at which I now sit.
Another couple years go by and my mom remarried my step dad, who I will always refer to as my dad, even though I've always called him "Shane" to his face. The first Christmas I remember with him in our family, they had a fight. I have no idea what the fight was about, but he threw Mandie's scriptures out into the snow and my mom picked up Jessica, who was a tiny baby, and Mandie and I followed her out the door. We ended up walking right back in because we had no way to leave. But the screaming and fighting continued. Actually, for about 10 years...
About my 8th grade year or so, Christmas Eve rolls around. My brother, Jarod, then about 2 or so, was climbing on the TV stand while my parents were fighting, once again. He fell, hitting his chin on the open door of the stand, splitting his chin. He spent Christmas Eve in the emergency room and ended up with lots of internal and external stitches, as the wood cut him clean to the bone. He didn't cry, from what I was told. But it was a Christmas I will never forget.
Another Christmas happened probably the next year. My dad took his horse up on the mountain to cut a Christmas tree. He thought he was John Wayne. He is more authentic than John Wayne, in my opinion, but it was what it was. But he brought a tree down and we put it up. But my grandpa went out with a 5-gallon bucket to get sand to prop the tree up in. He couldn't carry the bucket by himself, and he was embarrassed. He'd lost his eyesight, and his strength was fading. It was just the two of us out at the sand pit, and I had to help him carry a bucket of sand for the Christmas tree. I went home and cried, and wished I could give him at least one of my eyes so he could see, and I vowed to God that I would let him take me away years earlier than I was supposed to go if only He would give Grandpa some of my strength. He didn't do that, and of course, I couldn't give Grandpa one of my eyes, but Christmas became a reminder of the mortality we all face.
My last Christmas at home was the least pleasant ever, I think. My mom and dad were fighting, yet again. Christmas for me was a bath gift set from my Aunt Alana and a "forgiveness" letter from my dad, who told me I didn't have to pay him for the car I wrecked. What makes it worse is that the little kids, then 8, 6, and 4, didn't really get much more than that. We ended up in the truck, my dad on the outside, reaching through the open window to try to take the truck keys from my mom, who was punching him and hitting him. Mandie climbed out the back seat, came over and hit him and told him not to hit my mom (he wasn't) and she went to get a gun to shoot him. But before she was halfway to the house, he ran over and stopped her and told her to get back in the truck. We went to town and I never set foot in that house again. I spent the night with my boyfriend's parents for a couple nights while Granny was out of town, but when she got home, I moved in with her. Mandie had been living there for a while, and had only gone out to the house to "celebrate" Christmas with our family.
For many reasons, more than I have time to write here, I hate, loathe, and despise Christmas. I guess it brings up bad memories of bitter holidays with my "family", but more than that, the holiday has lost its meaning entirely. Christmas used to be a holy day to celebrate the birth of our Savior, Jesus Christ. It used to be a homey time, where children smile a little brighter, parents laugh a little louder, people are happier and come together more fully. Parents wink at each other, sharing the secret of Santa, and hiding it from their little kids. They pray together and sing together, and act out the Nativity with sheets wrapped around them, and brooms for shepherd's staffs, and bath towels wrapped around their heads. Moms and dads would hold hands while the big sister would read the story of the birth of Christ, and a special spirit would fill the hearts of Christians the world over. Soup kitchens would have extra hands, and neighbors would treat their friends to the 12 days of Christmas goodies, and kids who just learned about "Santa" would get to place gifts on a random child's doorstep, knock on the door, and run around the corner and hide where they could see the Spirit of Christmas light up some stranger's face. That was when I was little, in Virginia, when a stick of candy and a handful of mixed nuts were all it took to make a child very, very happy.
Those days are gone. Now it is thousands of dollars worth of cheap plastic crap made in China. Blinking lights of dozens of colors, hooked up to blink to the sound of a non-Christian "Christmas" song like "Jingle Bells" or "Deck the Halls". We can't pray and give thanks to our Lord in public because it is offensive. We can't wish anyone "Merry Christmas" because what if they are Jewish? Buddhist? Muslim? We have to say "Happy Holidays" like there is something else going on that is anywhere near as important as Christ's birth! It's a Nintendo Wii, with games and controllers, that set parents back $400, and a dirtbike, and a new "Guitar Hero" game, and a computer, and whining kids who, despite the fact that they do NOTHING to contribute to a happy household, believe they DESERVE more! It's all the rich parents telling their children that whoever gets the most crap under the tree is who is loved more. It's poor children feeling depressed and forgotten and suicidal. It's people forgetting their elderlies in "homes" because the holidays are just too stressful to visit them. It's eating tons of sugary, fatty junk that makes you fat and makes you hate yourself when the holiday is over, just to feel better about all the inadequacies the holiday brings to mind. Today, Christmas is about making money, spending money, and trying not to offend non-Christians by only singing songs about "holidays". Christmas isn't Christmas anymore, it is a "non-denominational Winter Holiday" or "X-mas".
I'm no stranger to the Christmas blues. I hate the holiday, despite the fact that my 5-year old really gets it this year and is so excited he can hardly stand it. I hate the lights, the ringing bells, the constant pressure to buy, spend, and wrap. Take out another mortgage to make sure the kids get everything they could possibly want.
I completely get why so many people kill themselves this time of year. It is depressing as all hell. And it shouldn't be! It should be a happy, joyous, freakin time! People should feel comforted and happy, not like they should up their dose of Prozac.
As for me, I really think I need some Prozac. My family invented "depression", or so it seems, and I've fought and fought and fought with it, barely keeping it at bay for the last 20 years by just ignoring that I have had all the classic symptoms--and then some--for 2 decades. Now I find myself more and more often sitting by myself, either at the computer, or staring out the window, wishing I could find the strength to get myself up and do something--ANYTHING--constructive. And the frustration builds and builds to where I am breaking things I treasure, yelling at people I love, and crawling into bed at 7 at night, just to lie there, staring at the ceiling for hours, sometimes nearly the whole night. Listen to my husband snore, and I want to hit him with a brick stick because he doesn't even know, can't even tell that there is something wrong. Or worse, he just doesn't care. I want to choke people I know who act so rediculous and stupid because the manic side of my bipolar personality just can't stand stupidity. Knots have been in my neck and shoulders for months, to the point where I can't raise my hands over my head to put my hair in a pony tail.
I HATE Christmas and I will be so happy when it is over.

Or at least less depressed.

I hope.