Santa got run over by Harriet

Harriet didn't actually run over Santa, but she might as well have the way Penelope is dealing with Harriet and Christmas. Penelope hasn't been doing well, overall for quite some time. Some days I get a reprieve, but usually she is struggling with giving up control and all that entails. But, then over this past weekend, she spiraled pretty quickly.
It took a couple of days to finger the root cause of the problem. The Letter. The one she was to write to Harriet about her feelings. She was assigned this task at therapy this past Thursday. It is due this coming Thursday, but it was to be done over the weekend. It did not get done. I didn't push very hard, but reminded her and even scheduled it into our time. But she just couldn't bring herself to do it. Sunday evening she really started having problems with lying, baby talk, going into a fantasy world, and just overall acting really weird. Monday morning the aggression jumped on and it went down hill. Mind you, she hasn't been violent, just angry, grumpy and argumentative. But it's escalated and violence would probably be the next step. I discussed with her teacher removing her from school for part days if not the rest of the week with her behavior the way it is and do some "chore therapy" as I call it.
After we ruled out school-related issues, we determined all this has to do with The Letter and her anxiety over knowing she still had to do it and she was freaking out about it. So, the last effort before removing her from school for the rest of the week, is to just sit down together and hash out this letter.
But one of the things that happened today that Penelope had to deal with, is a debate over if Santa is real. Yes, Penelope is 12 years old. But emotionally, depending on how strong she is at the moment, her age fluctuates. She still believes in Santa. Part of me said she really doesn't, she just thinks she will get more presents. Well, I learned today, that is not the case. At some point during the day, her class was giving a break to go to the restroom. Three girls from her class told her that Santa Claus isn't real. That really upset Penelope. She defended his existence as any Santa fanatic wood. And then one of the girls said "He can't get his fat *ss down the chimney." She then told them that cussing is a sin. (Thanks George) and they laughed at her. The girls got into trouble and another teacher took Penelope into a room to discuss the topic of "Is Santa real?" Those poor teachers. So far this year, they have had to talk about whether Santa is real, and "Is Penelope a lesbian?" They handle these things so well though.
On the way home, Penelope talked about what happened, and flat out asked me if Santa was real. Ugh. I don't want to lie. So I tried to put a spin on it, similar to what the teacher said. I told her I believed in the spirit of Santa. But she wanted to know the nitty gritty. Who puts the presents under the tree? I then decided, as not to totally lie to her, that us parents are helpers for Santa. We do the dirty work why he dos the rest. The downside of a 12 year old still believing in Santa - they can see threw your crap. She started wailing like I just told her I killed her cat. Then she got mad at me "Santa IS real. You just don't believe! You are lying to me! He is real!" I caved. "Okay, whatever you say. I'm glad you believe he is real!" On a serious note, I do think she would have been better about demystifying Santa if she was healthier. She is struggling right now, like I said, and clinging to a fantasy world, where Christmas traditions are the #1 priority in everyone's lives, and she was a little girl again with all that magic and naivety. She was crying because it's too real for her right now. She feels safer in a story, or movie like Polar Express, which we watched on Saturday with her cousins. We need to get this letter written ASAP so she can safely approach Planet Earth again.
So Penelope and I sat down and wrote this letter. Penelope was pretty emotional during the writing of the letter. She sobbed at points, was so upset at one point she became sick to her stomach, almost deliriously giddy at another, and just an anxious wreck most of the time. But she was able to keep it together with the help of a pillow to scream into, some breaks to take deep breaths, sitting 20 feet from the paper I wrote on, and a heart to heart talk with me holding her like a baby on my lap. I will admit, it was very heart wrenching for me to. She is so insightful and to hear her pain and how she understands what is going on moved me to tears a couple times during the writing. Fortunately with her 20 feet away, she didn't notice.

Here is the letter.

Hello,

I want you to stop hurting me. I’m not ready to see you because you will hurt me again. You will never see me again if you hurt me again. How did you hurt me? You hurt me a lot. You hurt me by running away three times. You hurt me by saying “I love you.” It hurts because you really don’t love me the way you should love me. If you did, you wouldn’t have run away the three times or cancelled seeing me all the time.
You don’t love me the right way. It was like you really didn’t love me. You didn’t want to see me. You cancelled our visits, or left early or ran away. I never knew if you were going to be there. I counted on it so much and you threw me away. Then after a while you got me out of the trash can and then threw me away again. You will probably do it again.
I don’t like how you dye your hair black. You promised me you won’t do that but you do it over and over again. You don’t take care of yourself when you do that. If you don’t care about yourself, how can you care about me?
You make me so angry I just want to throw something, or hurt somebody. You make me want to hurt you sometimes. Throw things until you are black and blue and hurt as bad as I do. You sometimes make me want to hurt my Aunt and I hate you for that. I want to hurt her because she is like a mom and you have hurt me so much but she is here to hurt.
I want you to get help so you won’t hurt me. Why did you run away all those times? I use to think it was my fault. What did I do wrong?? I must be a bad person for you to hate me that much. But I know now it’s not my fault.
I haven’t seen you in a long time. It was good for me not to see you. It helped me reorganize my life. It helped me heal and get strong. I am healthier and happier. But I’m not ready to see you until you can prove to me you won’t hurt me again.