I’ve been rehearsing in my head how I could write this without sounding like a complete dick and I’ve thus far not been successful.
Oh well, here goes. Deep breath. And –
– I despise Christmas.
No, I really mean it. I’m not kidding. Everybody seems like space aliens to me this time of year. It’s like looking through a weird anthropological lens watching other peoples’ behaviour. Quite uncomfortable to be around, in fact.
Because it’s like everybody’s on drugs or something and I get people doing things like trying to hug me… a forced intimacy that I don’t welcome. Especially not from the type of people who wouldn’t piss on me if I was on fire the other 364 days of the year but now suddenly wanna have bum-sex with me or something.
Hahahaha. Okay, okay, okay, so maybe that’s me exaggerating a bit…
But my reflex is to shrink into myself like a tortoise whenever someone tries to do that uninvited.
The fact is, I seem to be immune to whatever strange gas gets pumped into the atmosphere every December. I don’t get the same mushy emotions as other people and – if I’m truthful – I can’t wait for the whole ordeal to be over.
I’ve been like this for a long time. Christmas just doesn’t do anything for me. In fact, my antipathy is so bad that I make a tradition of watching slasher movies and eating pizza on my own on Christmas day.
…God I really do sound like a misanthropic asshole here, don’t I? Just hateful. I’m perhaps digging myself a hole here.
But I can’t help it.
It’s not that I begrudge other people having a good time and it’s not that I’m anti-religious (hey, to each their own), it’s just, I think, more of a cognitive dissonance issue.
That is to say that, given my atheism and my own sorta materialistic-mechanistic outlook of the world, I find that that there’s far too much saccharine for little ol’ me to handle at this time of year.
So I do my hermit thing, eat pizza, watch Zombie Flesh Eaters and cheer on Al Pacino as he tells Steven Bauer how Miami is “one big pussy waiting to be fucked” in Scarface.
And that’s my 25th of December. That’s my tradition – of sorts.
Under normal circumstances I deactivate my social media at this time of year in a desperate attempt to get away from all the tinsel and saccharine on the interwebs, but this year I need to keep active on Facebook because I’ve recently become an administrator on the Your Choice, Your Recovery forum.
It’s a great forum, by the way. For anybody who struggles with alcohol (particularly anybody struggling with it at this time of year) it’s of particular interest as it has some really good resources about The Sinclair Method and has a really good, supportive community on there.
Another one worth checking out is the Options Save Lives message board. Lots of really good people on there.
On a final note, despite my recent posts (see HERE and HERE) about falling out of love with Quora, I’ve found myself back on there writing some stuff again – hey, what can I say? She’s a demanding mistress. Hahaha.
This time I couldn’t resist answering this question:
I just couldn’t help myself.
The problem? Well… I worry that my enthusiasm to get the message out there and to make a stand against the misinformation, disinformation and confusion out there about TSM has the unfortunate effect of making me sound rather “ranty”… like a nutty conspiracy theorist at times.
But the fact is, this is serious and I’ve been around long enough – living, eating and breathing The Sinclair Method for nigh on five years now – to be quite sure of my facts.
The difficulty is, given how much I owe to The Sinclair Method, trying to keep my emotions out of my prose – which isn’t easy because I do get very emotional when I think of David Sinclair.
Though I never met the man, I cherish my memories of my e-mail correspondence with him (in which he revealed himself to be an absolute sweetheart of a man with an adorably impish sense of humour) and I can’t help but feel that it was a massive injustice that he was never awarded a Nobel for his contribution to the science of addiction.
Anyway, I may re-edit that response on Quora. It occurs to me that I engage in a bit too much Stanton Peele-bashing (haha! my favourite hobby these days) and perhaps could do with citing some other examples.
Okay, well I have nothing else to report for now. Thanks for reading.
Peace and love,