I had Christmas Day off - lovely, with the usual vicious family conflicts between my sister in law and I.
I made a lovely meal; I enjoyed doing that. I loved the sharing of my efforts and my being able to give something.
I suffered the non-subtle misgendering.
I had a cry.
I read my diary: I read about someone called Peter he was around in 2012.
Funny fellow. I think I would have liked him.
I kept logging into the site - not sure why. It's what I do.
I read the usual despair that I sadly I am getting use immune too.
Had another cry.
Decided to pray to a flower. No idea why but it was a cute flower.
I did the on-call. I gave my work staff time off. They have kids and family.
I had this lovely image of kids laughing, not sleeping, mums and dads sleepy annoyed.
Loving.
I heard the tear of paper and the destruction of carefully wrapped gifts.
I go back to the site:
I heard the tears dropping to the floor.
I must have been a bad girl/boy; Santa did not come to me.
I shudder and cannot think.
My emotions are so out of control.
Go read your diary. You were a strong man.
I do; and just see his weakness. He was never a man and never in control.
I went back to work today. i was called into the clinic.
Eight years ago I watched this young woman bounce her baby on her legs and complain as the bounces bruised her.
Eight years ago I cried as I drove my car home.
Lost in myself and just lost, tears washing my fears into my lap.
She relapsed.
I knew she would.