Jingle Hell – How Christmas Kills

I originally aimed to pen my feelings on this topic later in “the season,” but this past weekend, (please note, mid-October), I was pushed over the edge.

I’m not one who enjoys shopping as a rule. So in fairness I was already in a huff, finding myself in a store, looking for a birthday gift for a friend.

A gift card again? No, I wanted to get something real, something unique – you know, for a birthday. Over here…? No, that corner is overrun with Christmas trees. Perhaps down this aisle? No, that’s where the Halloween décor has been unceremoniously shoved onto one tiny shelf to make room for beads, string lights and fake poinsettias . Oh I know, back here? Sorry, you lose, and please don’t trip over the inflatable Rudolf and Frosty glowing-yard-displays that are here to block all of Aisle Three.

In desperation I head to the men’s clothing section to find some safety, some sanity, but the ceiling loudspeaker above my head is terrorizing me, taunting me, blaring decibel-ten-level music into my skull, and though I try to focus, Andy Williams’ voice joyously reminds me it’s the MOST, won-der-ful TIME, of the year!!! 

Oh really, Andy?

And just what part of the year is it you are speaking of, hmmm? It’s October freaking 15^th. The Christmas trees have been lingering in Costco since September. Are we talking the two weeks before Christmas? All of December? Perhaps November and December? No, apparently Andy is talking about October too! And oh joy, we get to be assaulted by this false feeling that the year is over, done – just pack it up, Nancy, you did your best!

Cue the Mariah Carey song! Yes, you too can watch as the poor schlubs working retail melt – into – the – floor – as they realize they’ll be blessed in hearing this song 5 times a day for twenty-five percent of their year.

The stocked store shelves are one thing. So be it. But somehow it’s the Christmas music that makes me throw my hands up in the air and scream, “For the love of God, I’m buying Halloween candy here!” 

It’ll be no surprise that I opted for a gift card and got the hell out of there. But this wretched experience brought back to my consciousness the loss of Daniel.

Last August I reconnected with him, a high school acquaintance, via Facebook. He reached out after reading my writings on mental health struggles. We had a few days of fun back-and-forth messages recalling school days – mind you, we were never hang-out friends in high school, but there was a mutual respect. His life since then, I learned, had been anything but a bed of roses. There’d been divorce. Drinking. Possible addiction. A work injury that left him in constant pain. Run-ins with the law. The stresses of solely caring for sickly, aging parents until their recent deaths. And most tragically, a son who’d died of a drug overdose.

The poor guy was fixated on the past, on mistakes, and how his ex-wife, in his words, had turned his beautiful boy into an addict. One text in September read, “It’s two years today that my only son died. It may be a rough one.” By last November 5^th he was already dreading the upcoming Christmas season. His text: “Haven’t seen my kids for Christmas in 20 years. My son’s Christmases are over, and my daughter won’t return my calls.” 

I commiserated over how society forces Christmas cheer on us earlier and earlier and advised him to “hold strong these months.” His reply: “It’s rough, Joe. I don’t know if I even WANT to make it through.” I offered a phone chat. He said he’d ponder, but I never heard from him. On Christmas Eve I thought of him and texted, saying, “Just writing to say I’m thinking of ya, and it was nice to reconnect with you this year. Stay off social media. Do your best, have whatever version of Christmas works for you. And pretty soon this forced holiday stuff will be behind us and everyone can chill.”

But in January I learned that I needn’t have sent that last text on December 24^th – for he was already dead then, possibly by his own hand. 

The details are sketchy on if it was suicide, an accident, or a stress-related health issue – the family danced around it, not giving any details – but I was deflated, angry that I hadn’t insisted on talking via phone when he was down. I’d made it through my dark night of the soul alive, but he hadn’t. Somehow the impending Christmas season was just too much for him to face.

Plenty of people will point to his history of struggles and that it wasn’t just the extended Christmas season, but this is a real thing, y’all! Earlier this month a very distant relative wrote me out of the blue, in distress: “I’m doing awful. Decided to do Christmas this year. Haven’t done Christmas since the kids.” (She lost two young children years ago in tragic accidents). “Really nervous. I always had Christmas here for everyone – 25 people. Now everyone is gone.” 

I don’t know if it’s the curse of being a good listener or that I’m now seen as someone non-judgy, but people now seek me out to tell me these things. But note, it was only October 5^th, and this poor gal was riddled with dread and fear about getting through a holiday season more than two months away. 

I blame this on the American Christmas Industrial Complex and our now-extended Christmas mania. In plain sight, it is literally killing the souls of so many Americans. It’s like a slow, tense, four-month build up to an orgasm that finally explodes – for one day – whereupon you’re left feeling kind of spent, underwhelmed, disappointed. Light that cigarette, baby, for the pleasure won’t last long enough to get through January. We all know those who feel let down after Christmas, but now there are millions who are depressed and anxious months before.

According to the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI), 64% of people with mental illness report holidays make their condition of Depression worse. I’m betting the percentage is similarly high for anyone struggling through Christmastime due to loss of a cherished loved one, an over-fixation on the now-past good old days when the kids were young, or the debilitating debt and holiday over-spending to keep up with the Joneses. A forced jolly cheer that should be two weeks, but now is four months.

In the past, you only had to gird your loins to get through. “Just one month, okay, I can do this.”

Instead, now we’re faced with The Hallmark Channel playing 24/7 Christmas movies starting mid-October. Eartha Kitt is purring “Santa Baby” over the loudspeaker while you’re in Rite-Aid buying supplies for your kid’s Halloween-themed art project. The festive ribbons are taunting you in every grocery store, and an Elf on the Shelf maniacally leans in to whisper, “Will you have a good Christmas this year? Hmmmm?” while there’s this pulsating, nagging, insidious feeling that another year is basically over, with very few of the goals accomplished, so why even keep trying? 

In reality? It’s only October, (only September if you’re in Costco with the Christmas trees), and you’ve still got a full three to four months, 25 to 33 percent of your year to claim and live fully with your eyes wide open to possibility. But try focusing on that when your Inbox is full of reminders from retailers having pre-, pre-!, PRE-Black Friday Sales!! on November 1^st, or with George Michael already singing about “Last Christmas” on half of the radio stations. 

This warped, extended season can cause even the most ardent Christmas fan to loudly declare on December 26^th, literally, that they cannot listen to one, more, Christmas song. They’ve been beaten to a pulp and they – are – DONE, stick a fork in them, let’s move on. One day later, let’s forget it! But my devoted Catholic mother will go out of her way to kindly inform you that the Christmas season actually only begins on Christmas Day, and the twenty-some days leading up to Christmas are only the Season of Advent. Imagine her and other true blue, by-the-letter Catholics greeting people on December 29^th with joyful declarations of, “Merry Christmas!” only to be confronted by dead-in-the-eyes postal clerks and exhausted friends who’re already fearing their impending January and February credit card balances, ready to haul off and smack her.

They can’t help it – they’ve been pummeled by four months of it. It’s almost like the pharmaceutical industry is in cahoots with the retail industry to help boost the sales of very-much-needed antidepressant meds. 

Now don’t worry, my soul hasn’t been overtaken by the Grinch.

Ebenezer Scrooge hasn’t won the day.

I like Christmas very much and Christmas music even more… in the time between say December 15^th and January 1^st. Some loved ones adore everything Christmas and thrive on the decorating and the festive cheer, and that’s wonderful because it’s for them and they’re not force-feeding it to everyone else.

Be good to yourselves; it’s rough out there. Initiate self-care, now.

And if you’re having a great season, keep an eye out for friends and loved ones who are annually just hanging on by a thread to try and endure the now four-month reminder of all they feel they’ve lost – their Season of Pain. 

They need our kindness, for they are fighting the every-growing Christmas Industrial Complex.

So be charitable. Take “Jingle Bell Rock” off the November playlist. We all thank you.