So I started going to therapy a few months back. My reason for seeking therapeutic guidance isn’t of itself anything particularly crazy; no psychosis, acute trauma, or anything like that.
I’m 27 years old and I’ve been drinking too much. I don’t think I’m alcoholic, and neither does my therapist, but at some point in my mid 20s I began drinking to escape. What am I escaping from? To be completely honest; boredom. I began going through a period of intense stagnation in my daily life. The girlfriend I was with at the time wasn’t making me happy anymore. I was becoming complacent at my job. Basically all of my hobbies had become boring. My therapist says I was just depressed, and I should’ve sought help. But I didn’t, instead I drank. Drinking became my new favorite hobby. When it began getting in the way of my personal life, I started seeing my therapist. I’m not going to bore you all anymore with the inner workings of my less than Grade A mental health, the important thing is I have been in therapy, spilling my guts weekly to a psychologist, and that’s when things got weird.
It’s the holiday season, which I’ve always loved. But for psychological reasons that I can’t explain, during the last session I had with my therapist, I unearthed a repressed memory. Ironically,we weren’t really doing any intense digging into the inner workings of my psyche when I had this strange recollection. We were just shooting the shit. We were talking about our least favorite Christmas songs. Of course Mariah Carey’s Christmas crime against humanity was brought up, Baby, It’s Cold Outside, among other cringe worthy hallmark holiday jingles, when it hit me. It started out as a nagging thought in the back of my mind. A feeling. A disturbing realization. It had been there all along, just repressed to hell. It made the hair on the back of neck stand up. It’s not an easy feeling to describe, but for a second, I was taken back to my childhood to a specific moment, and while reflecting on that moment I realized that something had been very wrong.
I didn’t bring it up during that session, but as the memory has continued to fester like an infected sore, I don’t think there’s any way around bringing it up at my next one.
The memory was of my 10th Holiday Season. As a kid I fucking loved the holidays. My mom is Jewish, and my Dad was raised Lutheran, so I was one of those lucky kids that got both Christmas and Hanukkah. It was the end of Hanukkah, which meant the tree went up. I would pass it in the living room and every time I saw a new present my face would light up. As an adult with mental issues and a drinking problem, my nostalgia for the holidays as a child is almost painful, but in the best way possible.
And this damn memory. It’s ruining it for me. It’s a parasite, sucking away my childhood joy. I managed to keep it buried for so long, why does it have to come back now?
Anyways, the memory came back in waves. In my therapist’ office, it was just a feeling I had. A connection I’d made, an equation; Christmas plus music equals fear. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, agonizing over it. Why am I, a 27 year old man, afraid of Christmas music?
Then I remembered a little more about that 10th Holiday season. I had just finished decorating the tree with my parents and my little sister, who I asked about this, of course, she doesn’t remember shit. I’m the crazy one, figures. Rambling again, back to the point. We had finished decorating the tree and I was in bed. I was just beginning to drift off to sleep when I heard singing; Christmas carols. At this point I remembered it as the Charlie Brown Christmas Song, you know the one. “Christmas time is here. Time for joy and cheer.” At first I thought it was beautiful, but deep in my gut, it didn’t feel right. There was something otherworldly about it, and it was coming from my folks living room. Why the fuck was there singing in my folks living room? I rationalized it away, it was probably just a dream, and if it continued to bother me I would bring it up to my therapist, who would probably tell me, “It was probably just a dream.”
I was free of the memory temporarily. At this stage it was just an annoyance, a pang of childhood fear that had resurfaced itself. Then another layer was peeled.
I was drinking coffee the next morning having myself a smoke before work, when I was taken back. I was a kid in my bed again, I had just finished decorating the tree with my family, Dad almost fell off the ladder when he put the star up. I was staring at the dark ceiling, moonlight shone through my window, when I heard it. Singing, coming from the living room. But this time, I remember, it wasn’t a choir of merry carolers Jingle Bell rocking in the living room. It was one voice. A woman’s voice, a lilting falsetto, haunting but joyous. I was strangely drawn to it, but even at ten years old I knew this wasn’t right. I covered my ears with my pillow until it stopped.
I snapped out of it and went to work. At this point I’m starting to get worried. It was the most intense day dream I’d ever had,I really felt like I was there. Before then I’d been doing really great about not drinking, but I decided I needed a beer. I planned to grab a beer after work. It was in the parking lot of the gas station that another layer was peeled, this time even more vivid.
I was no longer in my car in the gas station parking lot, I was once again in my bed, a ten year old kid staring at the ceiling. The singing started, but this time I remembered; it wasn’t sweet, it wasn’t beautiful, it could barely qualify as a human voice. It was piercing, shrieking, like whistle notes from hell. It wasn’t just hurting my ears, I could hear it in my bones. I put the pillow over my ears and screamed bloody murder.
Back to reality, I’m in my car, in the gas station parking lot, screaming my fucking head off. I turned the key and set a course for the liquor store, beer wasn’t going to do it.
I got absolutely plastered that night. I was scared to death I’d be taken back there, that I would blink and I’d be a 10 year old kid in my bed, and that god awful thing would be in the living room, shrieking the Charlie Brown Christmas melody. I drank myself to sleep, and to my relief, nothing happened. It was a silent night. (I’m sorry, that was terrible)
All was well for the next 3 days, I thought I was out of the woods. I wasn’t looking forward to my next therapy session and revealing to my therapist that I had basically been having PTSD flashbacks of what was probably a childhood nightmare, and instead of calling her I had just decided to take matters into my own hands and drink away the fear. But other than this, all was well. I was out of the woods, or so I thought.
Last night I was laying in my bed staring at the ceiling, when the final layer, or at least I hope it’s the final layer, was peeled. I was a ten year old kid again in my old room, I had just decorated the tree with my family, I’m laying in bed, staring at the ceiling.
The shrieking starts again, more horrible than ever. It sounds like four voices coming out of one mouth. The melody isn’t the Charlie Brown Christmas Song, but something else, something that no human would ever dare compose, and if they did, they should be arrested immediately. It had that eerie, ethereal quality of music playing backwards, like the contorted voice of John Lennon telling me Paul McCartney had been dead for years. The notes hit were just outside the limits of the chromatic scale, these sounds shouldn’t have been possible. They were not only heard by my ears, but playing in my head. I felt it in my joints, I got out of bed and started dancing, I don’t know why I was dancing, I don’t dance as an adult and I definitely didn’t dance as a kid. But there I was, dancing in the dark. I opened my door and went down the hallway towards the living room. I was terrified, I should’ve been frozen with fear, but I was drawn to it, this god awful noise. I was in a trance, but totally lucid, I wanted to stay in bed and cover my ears, but I couldn’t. It was like the pied piper, I followed it, this screeching, droning, wailing voice. I entered the living room and I danced for what seemed like hours. I was scared, I didn’t know why this was happening, but my child mind reached a point of acceptance. The music became less and less terrifying and more beautiful. The screeching, droning, wailing melody sounded like the sweetest thing I’d ever heard. I was shaking, crying, my skin erupted in goosebumps as I waltzed around the living room.
Then it stopped. The living room was quiet and I returned to my senses. That feeling of ease and comfort was gone, and there I was, a ten year old kid, alone in my living room, confused, scared. I heard a rustling and a soft whistled melody and turned around.
There was something behind the Christmas tree. It was crouching, it’s long arms arched with multiple joints, black hands clawing at the carpet. The side of its pitch black face pushed into the ground, in between two boxes wrapped in red and green wrapping paper, I saw them, two huge white eyes with beady black pupils watching me, stalking me. I sprinted to my room and I heard the tree topple to the ground as it leapt from its hiding place. I could feel it coming after me, it was right behind me, I was just out of it’s reach. By some miracle I was able to get to my room, slam the door and lock it. I jumped into my bed and hid under the covers. I heard it ravenously clawing at my door, screeching, braying, bellowing.
When I came back to reality I was a grown ass man screaming and thrashing about in my bed. “Fuck this,” I shouted into the night. I checked the time, it was 10:04, the liquor store was open. My therapist be damned, I was going to get shitfaced, and shitfaced I got. I’m writing this right now, hungover as hell and terrified. I called, my therapist and told her what’s been going on. She didn’t scold me, she just made me an appointment to come in at noon. I’ll update this thread and tell you guys what she says. I don’t even want to know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know if this is PTSD, psychosis or just daytime nightmares, but I’m scared. Terrified.
But, it sounds so sweet.