Why I Hate Christmas - Part 2

It was Christmas 1995. My father had just been posted to a country town in Victoria (Sale for those of you  who are familiar with it).

We left Hobart when the school year ended and drove from Melbourne to Sale after crossing Bass Strait on the Spirit of Tasmania.

While the trip itself was relatively good the next 6 weeks were not.

The married quarter we were meant to move in to wasn't available until the beginning if February. That meant we were stuck in a motel for 6 WEEKS.

I mean hey, that could be cool! I was 11 so it was an adventure for me. The thought of having my own room while living in a motel was pretty wicked!! I was going to have the best adventures in the history of adventure havers!

We rocked up at the first motel (two weeks at this one before the four weeks at the one with the extra room for me!) We were absolutely dumbstruck when we opened the door.
The room was disgusting. Dirty was an understatement. My mother immediately began her tirade and we checked out 30 minutes after checking in.

We ended up at the other motel, spent three days in the double room and the rest of the 6 weeks in a single room.

Living with my parents in ONE room was torture. It was the most horrible experience. I mean my father farts in his sleep. And I don't mean little "fluffs" either. He let's these massive explosions erupt from his arse. How he still has his intestines intact I will never know.
Then there was his need to continue to sleep naked. Ffs, he could have TRIED to sleep with some pants on so I wouldn't be scarred. I tell you what, it's fucking horrible waking up in your sleep because someone is moving around and seeing your father starkers.

So anyway, this is about Christmas and why I hate it, not the many idiosyncrasies I had to endure during those 6 torturous weeks.

For one thing there was no Christmas tree. Fair enough there was not enough room for one, considering three humans took up a fair amount if the space. However, how was Santa meant to find me and lavish me with presents when there was NO TREE?!?
Please note: I had already established that Santa Claus was a huge lie told to children, but I was ever the dreamer and hoped that maybe there really was some magic out there.

I raised the no tree issue with Mother and she whips out (of a bag you dirty people!) this puny and ugly little tree. It sat on top of the puny and ugly little tv. I mean, seriously, how were my presents going to fit there?!?!?

Turns out they weren't because there was no magic and there truly is no Santa because I didn't get a single thing for Christmas. Oh right, other than the joy of living in ONE ROOM with my flatulent father and moody mother.

It was that horrible Christmas morning when I woke up and realised I was an idiot. That's a pretty big thing to realise as an 11 year old.
As I looked around the room I realised my life was shit, I was an idiot because I had hope and that my parents really didn't give a shit about me.

When they got up there was no explanation, no sorry for ruining Christmas and destroying my fragile 11-year-old ideals. There was nothing. Absolutely nothing.

The day went on and I kept hoping that they were just going to surprise me and grab me in a bug hug, laugh and tell me they loved me! I kept that hope alive for three days. Then I little the flame burn out. They were not going to do anything like that.

So Christmas 1995 was when I realised I was an idiot, how much I hated my mother (that's a blog for another time), and how much my dad smells and drinks. I never knew until that Christmas that he drank at least two cartons of beer a week. A WEEK people.

Now let's take a look at Christmas 2009. I'm stuck with the two people who irritate me more than anyone else in the world. But I'm meant to love every minute of it because they are my family.

My father will be drunk by 2pm, my mother will be coming to me to bitch about my father drinking, then she'll go to him and bitch that I'm not listening to her. No doubt the heat will be terrible and I'll spend the day wishing I had any other family (preferably a loving one) than the one I have and contemplating the ways in which I can avoid being "present". So far I'm thinking of taking my sleeping meds and sleeping through the whole fucking ordeal.

So don't expect me to buy into this bullshit that people harp on about. Christmas is the loneliest time of year and I have two people I'm supposed to spend it with. Kill me now. 

Bah Humbug. My version of Christmas (Part 1)

So far I have tried very hard not to write a blog about the horror that is Christmas. However, I have failed in my resolve and here is my Christmas rant.

I hate Christmas. Call me Scrooge, the Grinch, whatever you will. I do not care. I still hate Christmas. Although, in my defence, I have a rather good reason as to why I hate Christmas so much.

We need to go back about 20 years, to a time in the 1990's (actually it was 1990) when I was 5. My 5th ever Christmas. We were living in Melbourne at the time. It was the year I'd started school and the year I started walking to school on my own too. It was safe in those days, and I lived just down the road and around the corner a bit. But I digress.

I was 5 and it was Christmas. I was so excited even though it was hot and I wasn't liking the heat very much. Mother had set up the Christmas tree and I wasn't allowed near it (even though it was in the room where I watched my afternoon cartoons.) In fact I distinctly remember being banned from the room. Oh well, I was 5 and was easily entertained with my barbies.

Finally,  finally, the magical day had arrived. Christmas was here. It was the day I held in such high esteem because I would be showered with gifts and love and my parents would love me unconditionally.
Like all fairy tales it wasn't to be.

Parental units finally woke up and allowed me to enter "The Room" only for my grin to drop and tears to begin their sluggish way down my cheeks.
Santa Claus ripped me off.

Yes, that fat bastard ripped me off. There were only two presents under that tree for me. A lousy TWO. But the best was yet to come.

As I was standing there with two rogue tears sliding down my cheek, my mother looked at me and sized up my ungrateful attitude. Without any warning her hand connected with my wet cheek and a screech issued from her lips. I have no idea what she screeched as I was in my own little world of cursing Santa for being a tight arse.

I was sent to my room. Hey, I don't mind being sent to my room. I mean that's where all my toys were and everything so, send away mother dearest.

I spent that day in my room writing a long letter to Santa listing all the things I thought of him. I'm pretty sure I made up some new swear words too that day. Pity I never kept the letter...

There's always one that got away

This is the story of a girl, a broken heart and the wrong decision.

It was a couple of years ago now. I was playing this online game, being all pretty and popular in this virtual world. I felt like I had this virtual world as my oyster, I could do with it what I wished. It was like an adult version of playing with a barbie doll.

There was this one part of the game that I liked the most, an unexpected surprise that was strange yet wonderful.

I was into the emo, neko (that's a hybrid human and cat person, post apocalyptic etc, I have pictures of my avatar on Flickr if you really want), grungy chick who loved the whole guns and weapons scene. Yes, indeed I am describing RP (role play).

Then one day there was this chick. She was running through the street, shooting someone (or thing really, she was after a lycan) with such accuracy I literally stopped what I was doing to watch this spektical. I was hooked.

Her name was CrimsonX Varriale.
She taught me how to use weapons, where to find the best things and how to have fun in this virtual world that was fast becoming the only life I had.

We spent pretty much every day together. We spoke via voice (thus I know she was a real chick!) and were never at a loss of things to do or talk about. She opened my eyes to amazing games, music and even photoshop techniques.
In a word, she was perfect.

One night at a gig I was doing (I was an online DJ, which is a lot of fun!) she requested a song. Flyleaf - All Around Me, which I still listen to and think of her.
Crim then asked me to be her partner, yes in this game you could partner people, and I accepted.
I had never been so happy in my life.

I didn't know it then but I was actually in love. I was in love with her brain, with her personality. It wouldn't have mattered what she looked like in the flesh, I was hooked. But I digress.

One day I started to think. This was pre-diagnosed-with-crazy-illness. The thinking led me to do something I regret.
I ended the partnership with Crimson and promptly decided to leave the game. I couldn't face her or even myself and chose the easiest way to leave. I regret that decision with every fibre of my being. I miss her.

I miss talking with her, laughing, joking and all that other stuff. She knew there was something "not quite right" about me, but she liked me anyway. I never had to be anyone else other than myself with her. I was in awe of her awesomeness. I was, in all honesty, in awe with her.


Now I sit here and tweet about how unhappy I am. Yet I know that I'm the reason I am unhappy and this regret eats away at me every day. A little more each day I become harder, jaded and more fractured. All because I was scared of what I felt for her and of the thought of her finding out what I'm really like and thus leaving me.


Every time I hear Flyleaf - All Around Me I stop and think about Crim and my utter stupidity.

Saturday Blues

Who would have thought that on a Saturday afternoon I would start to fall apart.
Why I am falling apart, I don't know. I am just falling apart.

I probably shouldn't have indulged in the behaviour that makes me upset. However, if I did that I would have nothing to blog about. Maybe that would be a good thing?

Anyway, I was tweeting as I always do when I am bored. I mentioned something to a friend about a game I used to play and how the people on that game hate me. This is where my crazy disorder kicks in.
On one hand I was saying everything in jest, I mean I'm not that horrible am I?
On the other hand I knew that the people I used to chat with on that game do in fact hate me, even if I don't know why.
Unfortunately, it was sort of comfortable being in my little world where I wasn't sure which one of the two it was. I believe this is called denial.

My friend told me which of the two options it was.

Result: Renee is crushed.

Rather stupid is it not? I mean it's not a big deal. So pixel people hate me. I mean I have nothing more to do with them, so why should it bother me?
Argh, it's so frustrating being a few sheep short of a paddock! Although I might actually have a few sheep too many thus all the confusion. It makes a bit more sense than not enough sheep....

So now, I'm sitting on my bed resisting the urge to scream at everyone for ignoring me and to just leave me the fuck alone, while holding back the hysterical laughter and a tempest of tears.

How can things go from awesome to broken in a few minutes?
As much as I'd like to believe the professional mind fucks about a series of events happening that cause us to be sad but not acknowledge that sadness until it's too much, I just can't seem to come to terms with their reasoning.
Wouldn't I feel something if I were upset by situations and circumstances?
Wouldn't I notice something different before the final spiral into oblivion?

Oh well, I only have a mental illness (or three), I'm not the one who knows anything about them.