I've had this dream countless times. I find myself on Christmas morning, sitting in our living room. Suddenly a horrific thought hits me: I'VE FORGOTTEN TO BUY MY CHILDREN ANY PRESENTS! I jolt awake, wild-eyed. It feels awful, my heart sinks into my stomach until I realize it was just a dream.
I obsess over my kids and Christmas presents. They need to have the same number of presents, and the same amount of money spent on all three. Each must have at least one BIG box to open, or the floor around the tree just looks sad.
They call that paranoia, I think. To confirm I'll ask my psychologist on Tuesday, when she shakes me down for razorblades and an excess amount of prescription medication. Or, I'll wait 'til evening, when I have an appointment with my drug-dispenser, otherwise known as my psychiatrist. I'm seeing both of them right before Christmas, I think they arranged it that way out of fear I'd besmirch their reputation by submitting to a blue Christmas.
I'm pretty laissez-faire about the whole thing. Depression? Had it for 30+ years. It becomes a good friend when you've known it that long. I wouldn't be me without it. Why are these people so set on changing that? Sheesh.
Another obsession, do I give gifts to my two doctors (the two people who've kept me alive for over a year)? Or is that a taboo? My psychiatrist is of Asian Indian extraction. I don't even know if he observes the holidays. He makes more money a year than I'll see in five. What do you give the guy who's bleeding your insurance company dry? And my psychologist. Giving her something would seem more natural. After all, she's a woman, and we women like lots of stuff. I think I'll give her something. Nothing expensive or anything, because she's making pretty darn good money, too. But I know she'd actually use a gift. That just leaves me with my psychiatrist, a man who may or may not observe the holidays.
I love worrying. Does it show?
Only a couple days left to wring my hands over the holidays. Such a great time for a depressive! There's so much to obsess over. I can lie in fetal position in bed and think about any number of disasters unlikely to happen, but fun to contemplate. What other holiday gives so much to so many? Easter? There's just a basket to fill. Valentine's Day? A couple cards, a couple candy-filled hearts. Thanksgiving? I don't have to cook (but if I did – wow!). Fourth of July? That's just silly. Memorial Day, Labor Day, Patriot Day, Voting Day? Put out the flag and BAM! You're golden. The only days that even approach Christmas are my children's birthdays. Those are pretty good, too.
But Christmas… Ah, Christmas. The grandaddy of all holidays for depressives. God love it!