In general, because we all agree that Christianity is the correct and true religion, Christmas is a hotbed for political conservatives in the west to throw around complaints of increasing inclusiveness. “It's not X-Mas you liberal! It's Christmas! In fact, it's Christmas Eve!” when in reality “X-Mas” is actually historically accurate and perhaps even more correct to use than Christmas, but don't tell them. Also, despite Christianity being correct and true, there are apparently some heretics who do not observe Christmas, and what's worse is when people or companies actually acknowledge diversity in our society - if the receptionist at the entrance doesn't wish you “Merry Christmas” and instead opts to say “Happy Holidays” then that's discriminatory against Christianity. Remember, those are the people for whom it is too sacred to let two men copulate, but nothing is too sacred to be complained about.

Personally for me, I can split Christmas roughly into the two phases of my life. One of wonder and impossible happiness, and one of dry disillusionment and pain.
As children we grow up and it feels like everything revolves around us. It was like this for me on Christmas. As a kid my mother would drive me to my grandparents a few days ahead of Christmas where I would then stay until Christmas while spending time with my grandparents. This alone was already exciting because I undyingly loved being with my grandparents - in fact, most if not almost all of my best memories involve my grandparents, in particularly my grandfather, in some way. He and I would get a christmas tree, we would decorate it, make preparations, etc. etc.. On Christmas Eve the rest of my family would show up and we would spend a great time. I would be looking forward to that day for weeks, properly hyped up with a really cool “adventskalender” that my mom would construct manually just for me (ie. not a boring one bought from a store), and I would be really excited for my presents. At the time of presents my grandfather and I would get into a different room where he would read me a story from a book until we're called back into the living room to get our presents. And, jesus christ, it was always super exciting because I really did get some really cool presents. Christmas is in fact one of the experiences in my life that I am very grateful to have been allowed to experience like that. It was like straight from a book. Warm room lit only by the colorful decorations of the christmas tree, with piles of presents underneath, everyone I loved was present, in an environment where I probably felt something like.. well, home. It felt like I was correct there, like I belonged to that place. The social interaction, I was free to talk to people, I had nothing to worry about, it was just perfect. Oh, it was also during the times where we actually still had snow, so usually this would also be paired with lots of outside days playing and sliding and building around in snow and just having fun, no strings attached.

However, predictably this wasn't going to last forever. I saw that coming ahead of time and mentally prepared for it so I wasn't hit that bad, but obviously this eventually broke down once I understood little bit better the context and reasons why things happened they way they did. I quickly disillusioned and things got… gray. It suddenly didn't feel real anymore. Faked. Forced. As if we went there to have fun because that's the right thing to do, while not actually enjoying ourselves. It became less and less involved over the years and that alone wasn't really a problem. The problem I actually ran into is that I began to regret ever having enjoyed Christmas so much. I began questioning whether that overwhelming sense of joy I felt as a kid was perhaps pathologic. A manic phase of an otherwise dysfunctional child? All my memories have kind of lost their validity back then as I find it more and more reasonable that what happened back then were actually early signs of something being wrong with me.

These days, Christmas is the annual occasion for these thoughts to crop back up into my head; memories of a childhood long past, one that I used to hold in high regards but question more and more; witnessing how the dreams and hopes of my younger self are quietly dying with each year I spend in isolation and, more importantly, desperation. It's a stark reminder of how much I have lost, of things I will never reattain. A gift I never asked for, and may even want to return if I had the choice. The same goes for New Year's Eve. The problem is probably not even Christmas itself. Imagine I had plenty of friends and we could recreate the same atmosphere from what I know and loved, I suspect I would probably still not get there emotionally. It feels like this whole part of me has just died off, like I have changed too much, perhaps “too bitter” to actually enjoy it anymore. Now, I understand that any therapist would tell me that setting these expectations is the wrong place to start and that it's not about “being as nice as it used to be” - especially since my memory of those events will be distorted, positively - but that's not the point. The point is that I want to enjoy a Christmas in a way that makes me happy, and right now I just don't know anything that could make me happy. I believe that I just have too many things to work through before I can actually clear my mind and actually even try enjoying Christmas.