Tuesday, April 2, 2013

April 2, 2013 - Six weeks and four days

Joe was stillborn a little over six weeks ago.  I am not equipped to deal with losing a baby.  A child.  A person whose every cell came from my own body save for one.

I can’t remember how pregnant I should be.  I try to do the math and my brain stops working.  I just know I should be pregnant and something is terribly, terribly wrong.

I have learned a lot from Joe.  I’ve had things cross my mind that I never dreamed I could consider.  I understand suicide more now.  I don’t mean the pity-seeking, attention-grabbing attempts at suicide.  I mean the deliberate, gun in the mouth, drive off a cliff, no turning back suicides.  Maybe it isn’t selfishness that drives people to suicide like I once believed.  Perhaps sometimes it’s the only way to stop the pain. 

I’ve been having panic attacks again.  Trouble sleeping, trouble eating.  All the stuff I had gotten a handle on and they are back with a vengeance.  The good news is that I am an old pro at battling depression.  In a way, maybe being a survivor long before I ever got pregnant has prepared me for this.

I have to admit – I thought I had done my time.  After the years of sexual abuse and physical abuse and mental abuse – I really believed my life had turned around for the better and it would be mostly smooth sailing.  Through the entire pregnancy I felt like this was happening to someone else somewhere for real but when the time came, I would have a miracle baby who beat the odds and wouldn’t have any of the problems the doctors were sure he would have. 

Life just keeps on trucking.  Doesn’t matter how I feel or how bad I want things to slow down so I can catch my breath.  The advice I keep getting is ‘do the work’ and ‘sit with the grief.’  It’s as if they don’t know I’m already carrying it around with me everywhere I go.  I can’t outrun it.  I can only try to run with it strapped to my back.  This is who I am now.  A mother of two who only kisses one of them goodnight.

Yes I am very grateful for H but that guilt-laced approach of telling me how worse other people have it or be thankful for what you have – does NOTHING for grief.  It doesn’t make Joe any less gone.

I have given myself permission to be impatient, bitchy, standoffish, unreliable, late, emotional, irrational, needy, clingy, ridiculous, irresponsible, impulsive, weepy, sad, infuriated, suspicious, contemplative, sleepy, high, drunk, repulsed, cold, bitter, annoying, obsessive, tactile, spacey, jealous, vengeful…and that’s all before second breakfast.

I get the feeling that’s been the key to healing all this time.   Taking care of myself first.  Honoring my feelings even if they’re ugly.  If that’s what I’m supposed to learn from all this, great, I’m done.  I’d like my son back now please.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

i haven't any advice to give to you on how to help&i know you're not asking for any either,but what i am compelled to say to you is "THANKYOU".......for being alive to share your feelings&thoughts.i hope you know how much it helps(me)this woman,this stranger out here.i read your blog&your tweets(not subscribed to either)and although your words don't take my own painful memories of my suffering sexual,emotional abuse as a child,it really helps to read that you have found your voice&maybe i can too.i'm not a mother,& even if i was,i would never ever understand your pain...i just want to tell you that i love you and thankyou for being alive&having such a strong voice.~in maine