Seasonal Depression
I was out for my walk last night, under a bright, nearly full moon decorated with gauzy clouds, enjoying the Christmas lights I saw, and marveling that I lived in a place where the viewing of Christmas lights didn’t require a car, boots, and a down coat against the cold. I was out in jeans and a fleece pullover, the breeze just enough to make my cheeks pink.
My Christmas spirit this year has been questionable, and now even its questionableness is questionable. I walked by a house and caught just the briefest sliver of a glimpse of their Christmas tree, and felt a bit wistful about it. I wondered whether or not I should put my tree up after all.
I’d decided against it a few weeks ago, and bought a Christmas wreath to put on the coffee table, some pine-scented candles, and even just today I wrapped some lights around the rail by the front door. It’s a lot of work, putting up that tree. And it’s not even that I’d be putting it up alone; I’ve always put it up alone. A really wasn’t a Christmas fan, although he did exchange gifts. But all the decorating and rigmarole wasn’t for him. The same is true for E. I guess I felt like the aloneness would just be exacerbated this year, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to deal with that. And there’s the very real fact that 2 years ago I put that tree up, talking to A on the phone the entire time I worked on it. Our romance was very new then, and heady, and I carried that warm memory as I put it up last year as well, with full expectations that I would this year, too.
Obviously, that’s not going to work out. I couldn’t call him if I wanted to. Man, do I want to. I call him all the time, although not on the phone, but the conversation is distinctly one-sided. I have seen a dozen gifts that would’ve been perfect for him, and passed them all up with pain in my heart. I’ m not sure how much Christmas baking I’m up for; how can I not send him any goodies? Some part of me wonders if I’m really avoiding hurt by avoiding these things, or if I’m punishing myself with enforced grief in largely not focusing on the holiday this year. Maybe it’s both. Maybe neither.
I guess I’m just not feeling a lot of goodwill toward men when I feel like I’ve not received a lot of goodwill this year. I’ve gone, and am still going, through the roughest time I have ever known, and where the hell IS everyone? I accept that they’re not here, and they’re not going to be here, and that’s just the way it is. I’ve had months to get used to the idea, so it doesn’t really upset me that much anymore. But it doesn’t make me want to bust my ass making Christmas cookies for them, either. Maybe that’s it. I feel this need to economize what I’m willing to do for others when most of the time I’m going to have to do for myself because there’s no one putting themselves out for me. I choose where I put myself out very carefully these days. But it doesn’t feel like wisdom, like I’m choosing where to put my limited energies. It feels stingy and small and preemptively vengeful. There’s a bit of “fuck you” in the things I’m not doing, I admit, and I don’t know how I feel about that. I wonder if I’m going in the wrong direction, because I can’t say that it actually makes me feel any better. But I don’t know how to be expansive or generous right now without faking it; you can’t give what you don’t have.
I guess I’m doing small things, as the spirit moves me, and that’s probably enough. If I get a wild hair and decide on Christmas Eve I have to have a tree, there’s nothing to stop me from getting one. If Christmas Eve comes and goes without a tree, obviously it wasn’t really that important to me. I’m just going with whatever the vibe of the moment is; I have learned that that’s about all we can do.