Christmas card to the void

This is not a happy post, though it has everything to do with the holidays - family, thoughtfulness, giving gifts not because you have to but because you care for someone and want to show that you do and make them smile for half a moment. This is a bitter post, frustrated with some things, angry with others things that I've kept to myself for years.

This Christmas season, I'm just not feeling it. Here it is, the second day of December - the second day that I by rights and tradition should be giggly and full of childish glee and wonder, counting down the days, decorating, planning - and all I can think is "I wish this were over already." I think part of the reason is that there are no decorations at The Dragon's Den, since a) neither the boy or I own any of our own Christmas decorations yet, b) said decorations cost money that we don't have, and c) even if we could afford to glitz up the place, there's no room for miscellaneous "stuff." No, really. It's that small an apartment.

No tree, no wreath, no holly or ribbons or bows or pretty multi-colored trinkets. The only candles we have are the regular every-day ones that almost never are burned because they end up in the way, and we have no available electrical sockets left for plugging in Christmas lights we might like to run around the edges of the ceiling. Ok, I could put up a wreath, but really, without everything else what's the damn point? Not even the weather feels Christmas-like. Sure, it's cold as hell at night and in the mornings, but by the time noon rolls around its usually blindingly sunny and hot again. It's pretty much still summer here, during the hours that count for wakefulness.

There's a Christmas tree at my work, but it's not in the front lobby - the most logical place to put it, so that customers can see it - or anywhere else that makes sense. It's shoved up against the grey cubicle-wall that edges the graphics department, taking up a huge amount of space in the walkway between that wide blank grey cubicle-wall and the little desk area for the courier and the lady who used to be the courier but who now does a bunch of scheduling and dummying. It's not even a department in and of itself. Behind that desk area is a big open space with a few rarely used tables, and beyond that about half a dozen ad reps, all the way on the other side of the room. Whoever put the tree up this year wasn't thinking very well.

Christmas sucks anyway when you're constantly broke and owing on medical bills (which just keep getting bigger because the medical company keeps tacking on huge late fees, even if you make regular - and fairly large - payments on them). I mean it really sucks. I've bought a whopping total of one present so far, and already I'm grinding my teeth at the fact that I really could have used that money for gas. Or for another payment on a medical bill (and these aren't bills for horrible awful things, just run-of-the-mill viruses that make you wonder if you've got lung cancer or some such but then clear up on their own as soon as the doctor tells you they will and charges you for that "duh-advice.") Then I feel shitty for thinking that, because I'm supposed to be thinking about other people this time of year, right? Not myself? But I do think of others, and see all sorts of great stuff they'd love to have and that I'd love to give them, but can't really afford. Or I could afford to, but then I couldn't pay all my bills, or at least not make enough payments on them to pay them off before the next $30 fee is tacked on. So I see stuff to buy, and I feel like a tightwad for not buying it, but then hours or days later I'm glad I didn't because I end up needing that money that I didn't spend on someone else. So I feel relieved, then wonder what he hell I'm going to get for gifts and how, and bitch about the fact that my family's Christmas is taking place several days early this year because of conflicting work schedules, so that I have even less time to buy stuff. Then I feel like shit all over again.

And do you know how much I hate the saying "it's the thought that counts"? Because I know that, really, but I also know how excited everyone gets about both giving and receiving gifts, so if I can't afford to buy someone something, even something small, I feel like I'm not playing fair, because gods know they're going to buy me something, even it if puts them over the limit on their credit card, and damned if it isn't going to be something nice and thoughtful and probably expensive to boot. And, just to make me feel even smaller, they'll probably get me three or four gifts, even though they insitsed I should only get them one, or not worry at all. Can you believe the nerve of some people? (Yes, that last bit was sarcastic.)

My family has tried the no-gift-giving thing. Not long at all after the no-gift rule was established, my aunt whined and begged to have it changed to one-gift, as in the whole white-elephant deal with drawing names so each person only buys one gift, period. So we caved, and we all bought one gift, until not too terribly long before The Big Day this same aunt admitted to having splurged and bought something for everyone - actually, several somethings for everyone. Everyone else was vastly disgruntled, because that meant we'd all have to do the same, of course. It's not that we didn't want to give each other nice things, but it would have been nice to know this tidbit of information a wee bit earlier so we could have budgeted appropriately and spent time finding thoughtful gifts rather than dashing out madly to find the first thing - regardless of price or quality - that might in any tiny way appeal to whoever we were buying for at the time.

I doubt this experiement will ever be repeated.

I've made my Christmas-money woes for this year known to Mama Wren, who nods sagely and tells me not to worry about it, that no one in the family is going to either really feel like and/or be able to afford lots of presents this year. And although I realize she's smart and she's working on logic, I've discovered that our extended family and logic does not mix as expected. Yes, we've lost two members of the family this year, and another the year before that, so that the holidays are somehow less than they were. Yes, the economy sucks right now so none of us really has much "splurge" money.

No, this does not mean we will all act accordingly.

Those who do have just the tiniest of financial wiggle room will splurge because they want to, which means the rest of us have to, because that's just the way it works. No one actually tallies the gifts to see who has one or two more or less. No one says anything if they don't receive a gift from one person. But it's there, unspoken, invisible and guilty. We all have to give equally, doncha know? It feels like a chore, not fun like it's meant to be.

And to top it all off, I'm really not that into big family gatherings. I know how that sounds: like I'm some heartless or careless person who only gets together with said family at big events, and only because I have to. You'd be half-right, but the first half of that is directed at me from said family, and so causes the second half.

See, although I try my damnedest (and I think I usually succeed) to be a good, kind, friendly, caring person, I have tattoos. And piercings. And I'm more comfortable in jeans and a T-shirt than pressed, feminine slacks, a nice floofy blouse and a sweater vest. And my hair is short, but not fashionably so. And I like things like dragons and demons and monsters and stuff. And I don't like kids much.

For most of my teenage years and past up until very recently (see: I went back to college and am actually getting all A's) I have been a disappointment. Despite my creativity and sense of adventure, humor, fun, and overall cheerfulness, I was never up to the expectations of my grandparents, my aunts, my uncles. This was never voiced, of course, but I'm not stupid. At family gatherings (Christmas was always the worst for this, just because it's supposed to be all about family) all the "grownups" would be gathered around talking, talking, talking, and us "kids" (that's despite actual age) would be off in our own corners of the house, quiet and out of the way. It was ok with the grownups if we peeked in every once in a while for a minute or two - it gave them a chance to check up on us, and then we'd be off again on our own, or could stick around if we didn't do or say much.

I began to understand what a disappointment I was when I began trying to contribute to conversations. At first I was indulged with various questions about my life, but the answers I gave were never the right ones. Those answers (which seemed perfectly ok to me then and still do to this day) always brought half-frowns and serious looks and further questions as to "why" this and "why" that, like I was wrong. If I didn't like my PE class, that wasn't a perfectly normal thing for some kids, it was a serious concern and a sort of dull shock to my elders, especialy when I explained that it being so very hot all the time in California was half the reason I hated that class. Who wouldn't like the sun, and to be out in it? Ignore the fact that "being out in it" meant running around in 95+ degree weather, without breaks, without the freedom to go sit in the shade for five minutes to cool down wihtout that day's participation points suffering for it. If I was still drawing dragons and unicorns I really should try to draw more acceptable things like portraits or landscapes or still lifes. If I played card or video games that centered around magic and adventure, I needed to grow up and understand that magic wasn't real (I learned that little fact of life when I was still a child, but I still like the idea of it - what's wrong with that?); I should instead get a real hobby, or perhaps a job mowing lawns or babysitting.

More exasperating questions were things like why didn't I know what my friend's father did for a living, or what another friend's mother liked to do in her time off? Like I should know these things because not for sheer curiosity's sake but because they were dreadfully important and I was irresponsible or a bad friend for not knowing. So sorry about that, but these things just never came up in conversation with those friends, and I couldn't see why I should be naturally curious about them to the extent that I would sit my friends down and have a lengthy discussion about all the ins and outs of their families. I still can't. It's not information that I need to know to determine whether or not someone should be considered a friend, so unless it relates in some way to me or that friend, like if a friend's aunt happened to be a librarian or their brother loves tattoos, why is it necessary for me to fill me head with meaningless titles, hobbies and quirks?

As the years passed, I didn't change much, and neither did my extended family. It got to the point in my early 20s that if I attempted to join a conversation, said conversation suddenly ended after a strained and tense last few exchanged words which didn't much include mine. This would result in a group of "grownups" and one "trying to be grownup but still obviously only a child" sitting around a table or living room, quiet, and no one much looking at me, until I'd finally get uncomfortable and leave. It was never long after I'd leave that the conversation would pick up again and the "grownups" would be laughing gaily and loudly while I tried not to feel rejected, instead once again turning to those bad, childish, worthless worlds of fantasty through either reading, writing, drawing or playing a game. And it wasn't like I simply wasn't on a level with them in terms of conversational ability - what I had to say was legitimate, appropriate and would have added well enough to the conversation. I "got it." I "understood." I could have chatted just fine, given the chance.

Needless to say, this realization made me rather bitter. What had I done to make them dislike me, or feel as if I wasn't good enough to be included in a simple conversation? Was I really so freakish with my books and my drawings and my preference of fantasy genres over mystery or romance or good old fashioned Civil War documentaries? Did my tattoos and piercings really make me a bad person? Because I didn't feel like one, and I certainly didn't act like one. Did the fact that I didn't know every detail of my friends' families make me unworthy of being a part of my own?

I eventually gave up trying to participate in family life at family gatherings, instead making sure I had a good long book to read or a pad of paper and full set of colored pencils to pass the long time on my own.

Events wherein family gathers have not felt very family-like to me since I really was a "kid," and I hate that. I've hated it for years. But I never said anything that might make my family more uncomfortable - I just went off to another room where I wouldn't be seen or heard much.

Maybe I should have given them an earful, stood up for myself, because damnit I am a good person. I always have been. If my younger half-sister (no blood relation to the side of the family in question), never much trusted before and now an ex-con, could be welcomed with open arms and cheerful invitations to sit and talk awhile, why couldn't I? What had I done wrong in simply existing?

Lately, as mentioned above, this has changed. Now I'm the Golden Child. It started very tremulously when I stated I had applied to a college to get my Bachelor's degree. The realization that I had "finally grown up" and was making a decision that my family approved of came slow and with much doubt as to whether or not I'd actually go through with the decision and the responsibility. Now, keep in mind I'd made this decision of my own volition, withough my family pushing me for it - they gave up on convincing me to go back to college years ago, so that it had become a non-topic, pointless to argue and frustrating to form the words for. I made this decision without consulting any of them, because I had to understand that it was I who wanted and was ready to return to college. Why then was my decision - even the fact that I'd gotten the ball rolling and actually applied before mentioning it - not immediately taken as the good sign that it was? Why was my announcement met with caution, not of the college itself but of my decision, period?

Again just to make clear, none of this relfective of Mama or Papa Wren. They've always included me and were thrilled about my decision to go back to college - mom even chortled over the phone when I told her. No, this distrust came from my grandmother foremost, and from other various extended family members - the ones who made family gatherings inclusive only of those they deemed "appropriate" or "acceptable."

It wasn't until I had finished my first term and could boldy announce that I was not just on the Dean's List but on the Chancellor's List that my decision was finally, fully accepted as a good idea that I had come up with and acted upon. And now I am included in conversations, despite still giving answers that I know are not liked, with very few uncomfortable silences. I am finally part of the family, albeit still the strange one, still the wandering one who doesn't know any better but who's trying, you know. I enjoy the conversations I am now allowed to fully participate in without scorn to the extent that I feel like a half-starved person suddenly given bread and water that was there the whole time but held just out of reach. A part of me wants to forget all those years of subtle rejection and embrace the family I'm finally allowed into, especially now that it's shrunken by one grandfather, one aunt and most recently her husband, my uncle, so that I feel I'm running out of time to connect. The bitter part of me - the part that holds onto hurts and indignities and injustices almost like they're bread and water themselves at times - is flat out disgusted with my enjoyment of these conversations, knowing full well that it's only a small part of me that's really being accepted.

Having been alienated - however unintentionally and perhaps without realizing they were doing it - for the latter half of my life has made me cautious. I want to know all the things about my family that I never knew because I was never allowed to learn them. I want to talk - really talk - about the things in life that matter to me, that matter to them. But I'm still afraid to fully speak my mind.

I want them to know I know they didn't see me for who I really am, but instead saw only what was different from them. I want them to know I know that those differences scared the hell out of them because they couldn't relate. I want them to know I think them cowards of a sort for not trying harder, but then that makes me a coward too, because I could have remained in their uneasy silence until I broke it and forced them to see and understand and accept me, and I didn't. I want them to know I don't hate them for it, but that I do think less of them for it, and that I think less of me, too.

I want them to know that the straight-A student they now hold so dear became that without them, and I want to see what they think of that idea - that despite their rejection I finally, somehow, became in part what they wanted me to become. I want them to know that whatever they thought of me to cause such rejection, they were wrong.

I'm not really looking forward to Christmas with my extended family this year, because even though I'll finally be able to talk with them I still can't say what needs to be said. It's not the right time, if ever there will be one. I'm beginning to get over the fuzzy-warm feeling of final acceptance, and the bitterness is beginning to eat at me again. I am still in a sense alienated from those family members, and maybe I always will be, because what they may not realize is that I haven't changed, only my actions to get to where I've always wanted to be in life. I still have my head in the clouds, dreaming of winged scaly things and worlds that only exist in books. I still draw fairy-tale pictures, and darker things that I don't show to most people. I still believe (though that belief is tried mightily at times) in the basic goodness of people, and that this belief does not make me weak or prone to be taken advantage of by bad (see: real) people. I still believe that if I try hard enough (and yeah I think that straight-As is hard enough, damnit) I can find the means to make a career with my artwork - even if it's not my full-time, every-day job. I still get lost in books in a way that I can't in any other aspect of my life, so that someone can be speaking to me, trying to get my attention for several minutes before I realize they're there, and I still love it. I still wish on stars, hoping beyond hope that the world is wrong and that magic does really exist, somewhere, if I find the right star and speak the right words.

And despite my bitterness, I still just want my family with me during the holidays, gifts or no gifts, decorations or no decorations. I just still don't feel much like family, yet.

And now I may not be able buy gifts to participate in this yearly family gathering in the only way I was ever fully able to, so that talking may be all I have to give this year. Mama and Papa Wren are great for talking, but I can talk to them anytime (not to make that less than it is - I cherish it). Some of the people I want to talk to but at the same time dread talking to are those I see only during this time of year, for one or two weeks, or a few days. They are people who I consequently don't know very well because of that and the fact that I was not allowed in for so long, so that speaking to them now will be an uncomfortable thing - for me at least, if not for them as well - and partly forced.

I'm not saying that presents will make everything better - I know that's hardly the case. I'm just saying I wish I could give them something they like so that when conversation runs dry there will be something else - something safe and acceptable - to talk about, so that I don't feel the need to leave and hide, again. A peace offering of sorts. It's taken years to get this far, and bitter as I may be I'll be damned if I'm going to let go of this tiny foothold. Family is supposed to mean something, and with those parts of the family we've lost to death and those we worry about I'm ready to sit in the silence as long as it takes to get to know these people before they're gone. I won't hide anymore.

I just wish I had something other than uncomfortable converstation to give to make it go a little smoother.