For someone who doesn’t ‘do God’, I do like Christmas. That statement needn’t be a paradox because even the most devout Christians will surely admit that much, if not all, that goes on around Christmas has little to do with the birth of the son of God. Little of the stuff I like about Christmas appears in the bible. But if I like Christmas itself, I don’t feel the same about the seemingly endless build up to The Big Day.
Already, people – including my partner – are attending Christmas meals, parties and the like. And it’s not even December, yet. That means I have the best part of a month to avoid the very things everyone else loves to do.
Confession time: I don’t particularly care for organised meals and parties. It’s worse than that: I hate them. When I was younger, I went along with it all, dreading the events for weeks, sometimes months, in advance. My first thought when walking through the door to whatever function was taking place was how soon I could walk back out of it again.
Later, this was diagnosed as one of my many anxieties, this one being social anxiety. The Christmas run-up literally made me ill. Not any more. Not much, anyway.
It’s nothing personal, although some people have, I’m afraid, suggested as much over the years. I like to stay in my comfort zone and I am much more comfortable when I am with people who get that and realise that I am not particularly into compulsory entertainment. As Christmas nears, there is a great deal of compulsory entertainment to be enjoyed, or in my case endured. It’s always been like this, too.
I’m currently engaged in a far greater writing project (greater for me, that is) and in so doing I have uncovered evidence of reluctance to engage in seasonal, and not just seasonal, celebrations. I have found countless examples of times where I cried off from occasions and others where I simply didn’t turn up. I absolutely loathe the idea of reunions of any kind, especially school or work, and would never dream of attending one. I found out years ago that my seasonal absences from all manner of functions were not confined to the particular season: they were, they are, part of my illness.
So, here comes another December of just getting through to 25th December without doing something I don’t want to do because, I know, it isn’t good for me.
It’s nothing personal, so don’t take it personally, when I don’t want to go to your event. It will stop making me more ill than I already am. Simple as that.
