Merry Fuckin’ Christmas.

So this Christmas, I’m learning exactly what I mean to my family.

Absolutely nothing.

Last year, there were no calls, no invites, nothing, not for Thanksgiving, Christmas, nor for New Years. Normally they at least call; normally the call is asking if we’re coming down, what our plans are.  Last year, I’d sent my usual box of homemade goodies, including the “family recipe” nut roll that no one else bothers to make. Every year I’ve made enough for my parents & siblings to get rolls, enough for their immediate families. Last year, I included some handmade jewelry for my mom & sisters.

No response. No thanks. No calls.

This year, nothing. For over a year now, there’s been only 1 phone call, after my February knee surgery. Nothing else after that.  There’s a couple generic cards in the mail — nothing they don’t send out to everyone else. Mom’s Christmas card mailing list is easily over 100 names, and I doubt she knows most of the people on it. Anyone who’s sent her a card in the past, anyone who’s remotely related, gets on the list, no matter what. A generic card, a generic signature.  I haven’t sent anything this year, either. No energy: my fucked-up gut issues have been bad enough to drain me of what little energy I manage to have.

Anger has settled to cold depression, the chilling “why even bother”, and the final “Fuck Christmas” that’s been bubbling under everything for the past few years. I’m not Christian. I’m openly, proudly Pagan. I left Catholicism and Christianity in the dirt back in college, though some child-part of me clung to Christmas & the Solstice. Even when I still considered myself Catholic, I’d spend Christmas Eve with a lit candle in my room, trying to stay awake to dawn, my own private Solstice vigil.

Leaving Catholicism behind, finally refusing to go to Mass & be a hypocrite — yeah, that didn’t go over well. I got screamed at. I got blamed for everything wrong my siblings had done — evidently my siblings were having their own doubts & faith issues, but it was all MY fault. They were disobeying Mom & Dad? My fault. They were refusing to go to Church? My fault.

Never mind that I was living three hours away & hadn’t had any letters or phone calls from them during my entire college time. Never mind that they were all in high school & perfectly able to decide for themselves what to do. Nope, everything bad, everything wrong that they had done, it was my fault, my problem, and I was a bad, evil daughter for daring to break with Catholicism & declare my independence of belief.

If it hadn’t been for one of my high school teachers — a priest with the parish — talking Mom & Dad down, I would’ve been disowned & tossed out. I would’ve been homeless & abandoned. I’m not sure if Father Tom did me a favor by talking them down. There’s a deep, angry part of me that thinks I should’ve left, fled, & abandoned the whole shit-show back then. Unfortunately, the “good girl” who wanted to stay in college won out & swallowed the shit down.

And now, this. Nearly every Christian I’ve ever run into has been a massive hypocrite — love is only offered if you believe exactly the same as they do. If you’re not, if you refuse the proselytizing & hold to your own beliefs, you’re not worthy of anything but anger and hate.  Their “loving” God demands worship & total obeisance, the total mindless, fearful obedience of abused children, not the freedom & reason & equality of adults.

And this angry, hurting child, who’s been tossed out & yelled at & scorned & scapegoated — fuck that shit, too.  The holiday season is not love or peace. It’s anger & hate — anger at anyone who doesn’t say the exact words your religion requires, hate at anyone who’s even a slight bit different from whatever you are, scorn at those who aren’t rich enough to afford the materialism hyped at us year-round, disgust at those who aren’t in perfect health & can’t work to afford the basic health care that all humans should have.

I’m a yelling, screaming, hurting child, abused & forgotten, and that’s what this so-called “Christian” culture has made me.

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