Holidays used to be my thing.
I loved Christmas. I loved Halloween. Birthdays were never huge for me--I was that 9-year-old crying because she was turning 10--but even then, I appreciated doing something small, something meaningful.
And then psychiatric drug injury happened.
Antidepressant withdrawal… then protracted withdrawal that went misdiagnosed… then benzos… and suddenly my entire life split into a “before” and “after.” I remember the days, the months, the years spent lying in bed fighting for my life. My brain felt like it was stuck on the worst acid trip imaginable, my body in pure psychosis, my nerves on fire. I felt like I was being thrown across the room while I hadn’t moved an inch.
Anhedonia swallowed everything.
Numbing smothered whatever was left.
DP/DR made me feel like my soul had been unplugged from my body.
Akathisia made stillness feel like torture.
I couldn’t feel a positive emotion even if it stood 100 feet away screaming my name.
And the holidays--these days that once meant magic--became reminders of my death. Yes, my body technically had a pulse, but if you’ve ever wondered whether someone can be dead and still breathing, the answer is yes. That was my reality. Every holiday was just another mark on the calendar reminding me of another year lost.
I made sure my ex-partner didn’t mention a peep about Thanksgiving, my birthday, Christmas--nothing. I blocked almost everyone from my phone. If my mom was with us helping take care of me--because I needed a lot of support—she wasn’t allowed to say a word about the holidays either.
This went on for years.
Even in the silence, I still grieved and mourned what once was.
Last Year: The Shift
Last year, I wasn’t healed--not even close. I was still in devastation-level pain. But something in me realized that maybe one day I would celebrate the holidays again… and maybe for now, I needed a new relationship with them.
Instead of trying to recreate the past, what if I let the holidays become something else entirely?
So we rolled out our Balsam Hill tree--the kind you just unfold and it basically pops into a full, lit Christmas tree--and we kept it undecorated. I didn’t need much. We added a few small decorations that didn’t trigger memories of my old life.
And even though I was still fighting for my life, something inside me softened. I was healing in ways that weren’t about symptoms--healing by accepting that this version of the holidays was not going to be like the past… but it could still be something.
Two Paths I See in Our Community
I see so many psych med–injured warriors struggle during this time of year, and over the years I’ve realized there’s no “right” way to handle it. I often see two paths:
1. Reject the holidays entirely, out of survival.
2. Create a different relationship with them at some point.
Both are valid.
Both have their time and their place.
This Year: A Corner Turned
And now, as I’ve slowly begun to turn a corner--not healed, not “normal,” but moving forward week by week— this Thanksgiving felt like a blessing.
I actually felt the holiday in my body for the first time in years.
Do you know how wild that is after years of numbness and anhedonia? (dumb question--you know!)
After not being able to register a positive emotion anywhere near me?
My mom came to stay with me and brought food she cooked. We ate together on my rooftop with the firepit going. To someone else, it might sound simple—but to me, it was everything. Yes, there were moments I didn’t feel well and had to lie down. But compared to last year, it was night and day.
And I can’t wait to see where I am by next Thanksgiving.
What I Want You to Know
There is no wrong way to feel or celebrate (or not celebrate) the holidays during this journey. Survival is enough. Breathing is enough.
And--I need you to hear this:
one day the holidays will mean something to you again.
One day you will feel positive emotions again.
One day you will feel grateful you stayed.
Hold on for that day.
One love,
Malissa
