Christmas, the season of goodwill amongst men. Not when I was growing up – it was the most traumatic time of year for me. Far too much alcohol around leading to domestic violence and alcohol fuelled arguments.
When I was little and I mean very small I loved Christmas. We didn’t have much money being a single parent family but I loved the build up especially at school, Carol singing, stirring the Christmas pudding in the school canteen and making your wish and the school Christmas party.
All that changed when my mum met her second husband, my abuser. He drank, a lot and that made her lewd and lairy and violent, very, very violent. Every Christmas I tried to join in with the pre Christmas build up. I used to love going into town alone with my mum, present shopping and listening to the brass band playing carols st the end of the high street.
All that changed one Christmas, THAT CHRISTMAS. I’ve already gone over what happened that Christmas in a previous blog post and as much as I spend every year reliving it with my PTSD, I won’t bore you with the details. It’s simply enough to say that Christmas brings up so many bad emotions for me, I have often contemplated cancelling it altogether. But if you have children you can’t, can you. You must soldier on for their sakes. I must say though part of me can’t wait for the day they are all old enough to make other arrangements. I will book myself a cave somewhere and hibernate I think.
I have really tried hard this year despite being disowned by my parents and ghosted by my ‘best’ friend. Who knew trying to get well would cost me so much, both financially and emotionally. This year like every year I have done all the present shopping. I have made my Christmas cake and one for my grandparents and pickled my onion marmalade. I am trying so hard for this Christmas to be better but the memories still come back. The Yuletide pit in my stomach is still there in spite of it all.