When I was struggling with depression in my twenties, there was nothing I hated more than hearing people wish one another a happy holiday. In the first place, it was fairly certain that I would wind up in emotional tatters during some part of the holiday weekend with my family. And second, the isolation of depression is only heightened when the expectation (sham?) of loving togetherness is intensified at holiday time.
Then, the film of Ordinary People came out. After the Mary Tyler Moore golf scene, my next favorite scene is when Timothy Hutton has a soda with a girl he met in the loony bin. When they part, he wishes her a happy holiday. She replies, “it’s going to be the best Christmas yet.” She doesn’t live past new year. What is my point?
Even now, twenty years later, I still rankle at the exchange of holiday wishes. I extend them myself: in person, on the phone, in email. I’m a regular well wisher. I have, for all intents and purposes, joined the human race. But it also rings hollow and sad to me still.
With that, I love you and leave you until Monday.
(Have a good holiday & don’t take any bad acid.)
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Betsy Lerner 
Thanks Betsy. Never had a holiday well wish quite like that one.
Unrelated to the theme, but what an incredibly young Timothy Hutton.
This may be my favorite all time comment.
“I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am.”
The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath
Here’s to all of us keeping our collective heads–out of the oven.
When I was in the throes of depression, “How are you?” was more than I could bear to contemplate.
Holiday wishes however irritated me for an entirely different reason. I’m not Christian. I hated it that people would presume on my religion with a “Merry Christmas.”
I’m not over it entirely, but nowadays instead of being startled and offended by holiday cheer, I simply reply with, “Same to you.” Those who don’t wish my any sort of holiday greeting don’t get anything in return. Those who do, get the mildest (and most insipid) of responses.
I make pie. It’s oddly cheering, the whole mix the dough-roll it out–bake it some–fill it with fruit–bake till done routine.
I remember that the Timothy Hutton character quits his team, and the Donald Sutherland character can’t make small talk at a party. They just can’t deal after the death of the brother. They are too sad and now inhabit the dark side. But in the end, I think they survive, because they have a shared sadness, they love each other and the mother, who has no emotional reality, is removed.
I have found that if you can’t have a whole, intact, loving family, finding one person who understands you, inside or outside the clan, helps.
Doug Kenney was right: sometimes you have to roll with the bullets.
Well how about the family scene where Conrad finally snaps and says “Just take the fucking picture!”
Oh, the thrill of it!
I could not watch Ordinary People for the simple reason that even watching a movie about a dysfunctional family (or reading Dostoyevski) was enough to push me into the gloom for weeks. A recurring skit on the Carol Burnett show (in which she plays Eunice and Vicki Lawrence plays her wacko mother) had the same effect. Maybe I’ll rent OP and catch up on what I missed.