I hated Christmas.
When you’re homeless or sleeping under someone else’s tree.
When there aren’t any presents with your name on them.
When your friends want get hot chocolate and stop by Rockefeller Center and all you can think about is that you don’t have enough for train fare and you have to borrow a coat.
These things make it a total drag but you’re a tough bitch so self deprecating humor gets you through.
I mean it’s not like you’ve had a real Christmas since your mom was around.
She loved Christmas. We weren’t struggling but she wasn’t Rockefeller and made sure everyone got something. Even that year that I needed and absolutely had to have ice skates or would die and then never used them not even once.
Made my grandfather dress up like Santa when I was too old to believe anymore. I couldn’t tell her my cousins had spilled the beans. I asked every question I could think of:
Where is the North Pole?
Is he able to get all around the world because of the differences in time in Europe and the US?
How long is the flight on a sleigh from Africa ?
I was in 5th grade.
I wanted her to think I still believed. Couldn’t break her heart.
Thing is she broke mine twice when she died on December 12th of 2012.
Add it to the list.
Besides that, my stepmonster was a total cunt about Christmas. She put the tree up herself because she didn’t want her ballet slipper ornaments any more that 3.5 inches apart top to bottom and left to right.
I got clothes for Christmas. She played dress up with me like I was a little doll when she liked me and then when she didn’t I had to wear the same red hoodie black sweatpants combo to school for 3 weeks straight as a form of punishment for “thinking I was cute”. And on my feet? A pair of Fila’s whose air bubbles had popped effectively making me squeak around my high school. I was obviously the very coolest.
Anyway.
Yea so I was sleeping under someone else’s tree and I didn’t get any presents I didn’t buy myself. I jumped the turnstile. Sipped Stacey’s hot cocoa. Wore her coat.
People think I’m bourgeois and I have to laugh. I mean because I am but also I never throw anything away without using the last drop because I have what I like to call “depression mentality”. I don’t know if it’s a real thing but my grandparents had it. My grandmother lived through the depression so she triple used coffee filters and my grandfather made four course meals out of expired produce. Split pea soup out of bad peas or stale bread in scrambled eggs. When people call me bourgeois I get it because I used a Louis Vuitton speedy as my gym bag in 8th grade and didn’t even know who Louis was. They don’t know I was homeless for three years, wanted to actually die and hated everyone and everything including myself and Christmas.
I’ve been both homeless and bourgeois. It’s called versatility. Look it up.
Anyway, at my worst, a few small acts of kindness and love kept me from giving up completely.
Stacey Wilson shared her winter clothes with me. Her parents took me on their holiday vacations.
Lauren Bugliaro shared her bed and her presents. And her turkey sandwiches.
Michael Pimpinella, my Christmas champion, invited me to Christmas Eve 5 years in a row. His mom always had a lobster tail with my name on it.
Life was looking up.
The first time I put up a tree it was a hand me down from Diana Ciraco. Hand me down lights. Hand me down ornaments. It was also 3 feet tall and on a table in a studio apartment. The foot of my bed was in my kitchen. But it was around the block from Diana and that was cool as shit.
Last year was my first big girl tree.
I felt it the minute I put the star on top. A cheap star that wouldn’t stand up straight but a total shift in whatever was left in my hatred for Christmas. Maybe my heart grew three sizes or some shit. I don’t know. Maybe it’s me.
This year I chose decor based on who I am and how I feel but also how I want t feel in my home. MY. HOME. Where I rest my head. A roof I put over my own head where I am safe. Maybe you understand how good this feels, maybe you can’t relate.
Maybe you feel hopeless right now and hate Christmas.
Been there, baby.
It gets better.
Look at me. I fucking love Christmas. I’ll shove a candy cane up my ass I love it so much. I don’t think I’ll ever take these snow frosted cedar fuckers down.
Feels like home in here. Feels like I’m home in here.
I stumbled across this. Your writing is very well done. I resonate with this like you wouldn’t believe. Thank you for writing.
(Disclaimed: we’ve met before) Hey. I stumbled across your link on your ig page that i peeped on your profile under nicks post that you commented on. Well that was a run on sentence. In any case, i read this post and it hit home. Thanks for sharing. We struggled growing up and once i was kicked out at 19 i struggled even more to have a roof and feed myself and hated the holidays since i had no family to celebrate with. I couldn’t afford a tree or do much. Now I’m married with a stupid house and a baby so i guess life does get better. Lol Your words were beautiful. I hope you’re happy and healthy.