Chris T. Mess
The Holiday My Way
It should go without saying: these are fraught times. Was it ever thus? Have I been having a fraught life? I keep waiting for some sense of ease to settle in. And it never does. Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy life, in my own terribly misanthropic, bitter, cynical, sarcastic way. I’m well practiced at laughing through the tears. I’ve been through a bunch of shit in my life, no better or worse than you, probably. It isn’t amazing I had a fucked up childhood. How that fuckedupness continues to play out, these long years later, is. Just today, during my weekly shrink session, I made a connection I hadn’t before.
“When I was a kid I was never like ‘I can’t wait to get home!’ I didn’t want to go home. I wanted to get out. And it just occurs to me... it was all the times I was told... we were told... ‘Just wait ‘til I get you home. You just wait.’ My mother and father, with all those fucking kids, when they took us out in public they were always keeping us in line with threats of physical violence. I think that was pretty common back then. ‘How’d ya like a crack in the mouth? Keep that up and find out.’ Hissed through teeth so the other diners wouldn’t hear. My parents hated the idea we’d ’make a scene’ or embarrass them or humiliate them somehow by being the little fucking savages we were. So there was always a beating waiting for you at home if you got out of line. Usually they didn't need to carry through, cowed as we were. Sometimes it couldn’t be helped. Someone was always beefing with somebody. My sister would get offended over some slight, perceived or actual, by my other sister. My brothers would go at each other over territory or stuff. ‘Who told you you could use my GLUE?!’ Some stupid bullshit. For whatever reason my parents showed no interest in bringing us together. Unless there was a group photo and they literally brought us together. Otherwise, we could usually be found at each other’s throats. But, yeah. I didn’t see home as any sort of refuge. That’s why I was always at my grandmother’s house.”
The shrink lets me finish, then we dig into what it may or may not mean to how I function now.
“My mother usually made me feel in the way. She would actually say ‘CHRISTOPHER, YOU’RE IN MY WAY AGAIN!’ and I would move. Maybe I was always underfoot but I don’t remember it that way. Sometimes she’d just shout ‘MOVE!’ and I'd do it without even thinking ‘Which way?’ Just out of the way. Get. Out. Of. My. Way. This is why I was pressing myself up against the shelves at the Target today. So people could pass. But I’m always the one saying ‘Excuse me?’ because no one else seems to have any situational awareness. No sense whatsoever that someone is trying to get through. I don’t know. Maybe we just don’t give a shit about each other anymore. The fucking driving I see around here. I was on the parkway Saturday, doing 80 in the middle lane and these assholes with the LED headlights are ramming them up my ass and passing me like I’m standing still. When did everyone become such a prick? I blame Trump. And I’m only half-kidding. He’s a one man permission structure for everyone to be their worst selves. I am not looking forward to the next four years. Jesus Fucking Christ.”
The shrink keeps listening, introduces a new wrinkle, we talk some more. I’ve been getting shrunk a long time. Since the late ‘80s. I’m not sure it’s helping, frankly. I feel like the same neurotic mess I was all those years ago. Maybe more self-aware. Less utterly despairing. Able to see life as essentially a farce largely devoid of meaning.
“The most we can hope for is to find some kindness, some love in our time. Because everything else will go away. Everything I own, all the pictures I ever took, all the radio shows I did. All my friends. My family. We’re all hurtling toward oblivion, like those assholes on the parkway.”
The shrink is quiet.
“You still there?”
I’m right here.
“I don’t know. I believe in all the stoicism bullshit. I try to practice it. It means letting go of so much. I’ve tried to be a good… a decent... I feel I’ve made the effort...”
I trail off. Even I don’t know what I’m trying to say. The shrink goes quiet again. These are the traps they lay. I’ll shut up and he’ll keep talking and eventually say something.
“But maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m delusional and I'm actually a terrible person. Who knows? I think I just need to... maybe the new year is a good opportunity... to give up on things I can't fix. I know, I know. Resilience. Grit. Keeping at it. Putting your nose to the grindstone. Never surrender. I don’t know. What’s it gonna say on my tombstone? HE NEVER STOPPED TRYING. I think giving up is fine. I read an article not long ago about the power of giving up. How long can you bang your head against a wall? But 2025’s gonna roll around and maybe it’s an opportunity to try something different. Not giving a fuck. Saying uncle.”
We’re almost out of time. We confirm when we’ll next talk.
“After Christmas, I guess. Have a good holiday.”
You too.
Until then I’ll continue to wonder if I’ve gotten any better at living or just more adept at not giving a shit. There’s so much I can’t control. The best I can do is control myself and my reactions. And the most I can hope for is to let the people I love know I love them.