Welcome to Easter. One of those days classified as a holiday. One of those days filled with confusion, and chaos for me. Where I wonder if everyone ate an entire container of Nutella, and washed it down with a liter of white whiskey. Where I wonder, “What the fuck happened to everyone?”
Easter, where everyone dresses up funny, and goes to church. Even people who don’t go to church any other day of the year. Even people who don’t ever dress up, for any reason. And suddenly, every church parking lot overflows with cars, and church goers are show off new dresses, new suits, new shoes, and new haircuts.
Easter, where suddenly everyone starts saying, “Have a Happy Easter!”
And I end up hiding in my house, waiting for the insanity to end, wondering why people think I’m nuts when I don’t become someone I’m not on Easter Sunday. When I wonder if the guy who said, “Happy Easter!” to my trans woman friend means it, or is just being nice. When I wonder how he’s so kind to her one day a year, when the rest of the year he wishes she didn’t exist, and wonders how I can talk with her at all.
Easter Sunday, when Christians celebrate Jesus’ Resurrection, and how his blood washed away their sins. Then turn around on Monday, and declare, “Fag! I’m not selling you anything in my store! You people make me sick!”
Easter Sunday, where everyone does egg hunts, or does a gift exchange thing involving oceans of chocolate, and cards, and makes more of those things called good memories, as if they can’t make good memories on other days.
Easter Sunday, where countless stores that would be open for business on any other Sunday, aren’t open, and pretend it’s for the good of their employees. “We’re letting them have quality time with their families.” At least, that’s the politically correct statement businesses make. Except the ones that declare their Christian values, “Closed for Easter Sunday, because you need to go to church!”
Easter Sunday, when I wish God would protect me, because I don’t dare let anyone know I’m not having a good time. “Well, go somewhere and die, then! Don’t spoil my holiday!” And I get told, endlessly, directly, or indirectly, how I can’t be unhappy on Easter Sunday, of all days. “No matter how you feel, this is the day we celebrate being saved! Buck up, buddy boy, and get with the program!”
And my autistic self says, “What the fuck is going on with humans today? Did they all get brain transplants last night while they slept?” And I hide from life, praying for sanity to return. For normalcy to return. So people become themselves once more.
Easter Sunday. One day in a 365 day year. Just like any other day. Another Sunday, which always comes between a Saturday and a Monday.
What makes it different?
It’s a social thing, isn’t it. One of those social activities I don’t understand. Like Christmas, Labor Day, New Year’s Day, and all the rest. An event in the social calendar of the society I find myself living in.
And yes. I hear the words, every time I speak of the society I live within. “If you don’t like it, find another society, and get the fuck out of ours! We don’t need you!” But, the simple math states I would have the same problem in any given society. That’s what autism is.
So, I grit my teeth, and carry on, on a Sunday unlike all the rest, as best I can. And wait for Monday to arrive. Because I know on Monday, people will begin to behave once more, like they do every day, except on Easter Sunday, or the other holidays. Because I know, on Monday, people will be themselves once more. And I won’t have to hide inside, and wonder what the fuck happened to everyone.