Hooray. And bah, humbug.
If I may say it bluntly, I truly hate the holiday season. And not because I'm one of these "keep the Christ in Christmas"- or "Jesus is the reason for the season"-types who gets disgusted with all the consumerism, etc.
No ... it's simply that the holiday season is depressing. It's the time of the year when the loneliness truly HITS me. I'm not close to my birth family (though I haven't been disowned or anything like that). I do not have a family of my own and have no prospect of that changing ever. Other people generally have both, nearly everybody has one.
Now, you might say that "it's a time of happiness" and how everybody's in high spirits and whatnot. That's exactly the problem. It's a happiness surrounding things from which I'm fundamentally alienated. It's like being a lactose-intolerant person at a cheese feast. A blind man at a film festival. A deaf man at a symphony. Looking at the world through jail bars.
So it's fundamentally a depressing time of year, and (I acknowledge) compounded by my personality. I am not gregarious by nature, do not like to impose myself on people and despise mandatory displays of unfelt comity toward strangers (hate the Sign of Peace ... check; avoid parishes where they do the opening handshake ... double check). So if I'm blue, my attitude is usually "don't try to cheer me up; I don't want your pity." I'll just curl up in a ball at home instead.
And that's my good reaction. One recent December, I twice bought male prostitutes (one of them on New Year's Eve, no less). In the middle of the next January, I spent several hours in the hospital emergency room with what turned out to be anal gonorrhea. To be honest, if I weren't handcuffed by porn filters, I'd probably be doing that right now.