I woke into tears today.
Maybe that is what Boxing Day is about, the hangover from the year.
Yes, I have had many joys this year – but always shadowed by grief and ongoing trauma.
Now, I want to face my grief, pain and a great deal of confusion. I do not know where I going with this, I am sure I am repeating myself. All I can say is this where I am at now.
I really miss Dad and Judy. I miss how joyful they make Christmas and my birthday.
As I write this, I feel I will cry again.
They give me love, when I thought I was nothing but dirt, I had their love.
Every Christmas I have the shadows of memories of violence and hate.
I have memories of Christmases inside my mother’s family.
These were Christmases were I learnt to kill emotions, learnt to dream of death and learnt to smile despite it all.
I associated Christmas with being laugh at for not being able to kill myself, Christmas was being fingered by my stepdad as he laid out the stocking or as I try to eat turkey, Christmas was always his flash presents, always his tongue down my throat.
I learnt to hate Christmas because he would not go away.
I had Christmas where I was date-raped. Rapes that nearly killed me, but I lived.
I was left frozen in my heart. I was becoming the living dead.
And, when I prostituted, Christmas meant nothing, well everything meant nothing.
When I was prostituted I was nothing.
Christmas being prostituted was the normal torture, the normal rapes, the normal brainwashing, the normal not caring, the normal not knowing I had a body, the normal fitting into the sex trade.
Christmas was just a slow time, but it was no escape.
Christmas was my death.
Than after a scream from the middle of my stomach, after a reaching into the emptiness, I made the choice to give myself back Christmas.
I wanted that comfort, I wanted to have joy as part of me, I wanted to remember there was innocence, I needed Christmas because by heck I deserved it.
So, I feel no guilt enjoying Christmas, for it’s my time now.