It's been a difficult season for me this year. On the 23rd I was victim of a pretty serious attack on my character that was public, completely uncalled for and horribly humiliating. Since then I have had a great deal of difficulty enjoying the season. I love Christmas and wait for it with bated breath but this season that train got pushed off the rails pretty forcefully. Luckily, in terms of this blog I had written the Christmas Eve post, Christmas and the Magic tree, a week or two ago so I had a post written, while anticipating happily the big day. I had written about going to Roy Thomson hall on the morning of the 23rd and, after the Messiah, I wanted to focus on how well the staff at the Hall did at welcoming us, and others with disabilities - I didn't want to write about the fact that I had been traumatised hours earlier and as a result had a very difficult time being there and found it even more difficult enjoying the music.
I used the picture I took of Joe for a blog post on Boxing day after I tried and failed to write a bit about the day. I just couldn't find either the will or the energy. I'm writing this today to tell you, as much as I find myself able to, about where I am right now and how it might affect my blogging here at Rolling Around In My Head.
On Boxing Day, itself, Marissa and Ruby and Sadie came down to spend the day with us. The kids were staying the night because their mom was going from dinner here directly to work. They rushed through the door, driven, I hope by the excitement of seeing me as well as the undeniable draw of unopened presents. It wasn't long before presents were being ripped open, and as much as we tried to put a bit of organisation to the chaos, it was delightful chaos.
Clothes and toys and books and DVDs and CDS were unwrapped, examined for a millisecond before another was grabbed. There was paper and presents everywhere. Ruby and Sadie both pulled me, firmly, out of myself and suddenly, Christmas was here. I am not one of those who say that 'children make Christmas' ... or 'children show you the joy of Christmas' ... I don't believe that. Joe and I usually manage a perfectly wonderful and perfectly joyful Christmas all on our own. What children can do, and do well, is take up so much room in your heart and mind and soul that there isn't space for the intruding thoughts of hurt.
When Marissa left I told her that the girls were, without question, the best gift I received this year. Marissa knows what happened to me, and knows that I'm having a rough go of it, fighting tears and pushing back a sense of bleakness is hard work and she knew how deeply I needed a break from all that. I wanted her to know that her visit complete with children and chaos and watching her put together a DVD rack, their families gift to us, complete with 17 thousand pieces, while the kids tried to play fort in it, was good for me. Really good.
Near the end of the evening I was curled up on the couch covered in blankets, Ruby and Sadie each got a blanket and came and joined me. We watched a DVD set we purchased for the kids and waited for them, one by one, to fall asleep. Sadie went first, crashing into sleep about half an hour in. Ruby was intent on watching the DVD and got drowsy but didn't fall asleep. When she asked for one more episode, we told her that we'd gotten a new book to be read when they went to bed.
Joe went and got the book and handed it to her so she could look at it, she held it in front of her, looking intently at the cover, "If," she said, her voice slowly growing confident," You Give A Mouse A Cookie ..." Then she turned the pages and found the first page of the book. For the next five minutes we sat there as Ruby read several pages the book aloud to both of us. She looked up and said, "... OK, you can read the rest." We both knew how much Ruby wanted to be able to read as she's been talking about wishing she could read since she was barely three. She has names down and can write all of our names and can recognise every letter of the alphabet, she's had that for years. But reading was always just out of reach until now.
Sitting listening to her read to Joe and I, I had this sense of peace and joy, that has been missing from the season. It was wonderful. Right now, though, as I type this, the girls are asleep in their bed and I am here at the computer, trying to write this while thinking about 'that which happened.' Writing anything, it seems, is hard.
So, dear readers, I am going to continue to try to write a daily blog, I have to deal with what happened, and I don't think right now, going public with it would be wise. I need to consider what my options are, and I need to find a way to move past what happened. It's like I've been hurt in a deep and profound way and, though I'm used to, as much as one gets used to, the prejudices that come towards those of us with disabilities or those of us who are fat - I always had something that was much more important to me that the superficiality of the judgements that came from appearance - I had me, and I know who I am.
But my 'me' was attacked and has been bruised.
I am damaged in some profound way right now.
So forgive me if the next few days or weeks, my writing suffers because of it. But I'll try, I am committed to this blog and to those who come here faithfully and will try to meet those commitments.