Let There Be Lights

I did not decorate for Christmas.  However, it’s relatively festive around here, what with my mood swings flashing as quickly as Christmas lights, from dark to neon to dark to neon…

Who knows, I may still put up a small tree before The Day of Presents arrives.  I was so very thankful for a surprise bonus from my fiance’s boss that consisted of a $100 gift card.  While it’s true you can’t buy three kids much with that amount, it sure beats nothing!  I think they will be happy with the purchases.  If not, we have not taught them enough about gratitude so shame on us!  

I am feeling pretty good at the moment, waiting for the neon to turn back to darkness.  My darkest moment today was when my ex-husband told me the girls didn’t want to spend this weekend with me since they are spending a week with me after Christmas.  Being told your kids don’t want to see you…stings.  A lot. But I tried to turn all that pain around into something productive, which I expressed in my last post about finally forgiving myself.  My internal Christmas lights have flickered bright and dark a million times since that post, but I have not lost my determination to make good on my word.  I have also decided to follow through with my plan to dedicate 2014 to completing one of my books.  I have chosen my memoir to put the full effort into.  I have been putting off its completion because I always think I’m not ready, that delving into those memories will hurt too much.  But in reality, I wear those memories around my neck, quite tightly, on a daily basis.  To write it all down and get it over with can only help at this point.  Perhaps it will present some form of closure for me.  If nothing else, it will provide something for my daughters to read when they get older, when they are ready for all the darker details I have fluffed over in my talks with them.  If they want to know what happened to the mom they knew, then I want them to know every part of it.  While I hope this is never the case, I know there is a chance that at least one of my children will inherit mental illness from me.  My understanding will be imperative to them.  So I will aim for whatever painful honesties I have to shed from my being to write this book.  If it could help them one day, if it could explain things I have been unable to with my mouth, then it will be worth it.  

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