Nyx's Journal

Normally, I love the Christmas season. I even suffer enforced time spent with the Extended Family (who mostly give me headaches) with reasonably good grace, because it's a price I'm okay with paying for a pleasant month or so. I love doing Christmas shopping, I love the lights, I love trimming the tree, I love the breakfast and dinner that I only get once a year, I love guessing what my gifts could be, I love seeing people's faces when they open the ones I got for them. I detest winter, but I love Christmas; I always have.

This year, I'm feeling distinctly Grinch-like. As I've said, my anxiety levels are high, and the busy nature of the holidays seems to just be aggravating it. Anyone who mentions that we're just over two weeks from Christmas risks sending me into fits of panic because I HAVEN'T DONE ANYTHING YET. I have no idea what to get my father– I've been fretting over it for weeks and still have no idea. I have plans for other people's gifts, but I've done nothing about it. Plus, there's the looming prospect of a family party, which I'll be avoiding– I don't intend to induce a seizure on purpose, which would be the likely result– but dodging gracefully involves excuses, a cover story, a planned subterfuge. My parents don't care, but everyone else will.

I'm stressed, in short, on top of the fact that my nerves are already a live wire. Also, how to explain away my absence and lack of job/general productivity to the relatives without ever so much as implying depression/anxiety might be at play...? This sort of thing is exactly why awareness is so important; bad enough to cope with the disease without also having to cope with the misinformed.