Something has been niggling….

Last weekend, I attended one of those “party planning” parties- you know the ones where you’re able to shop from home, and trial their wares.

A feature of many of these types of businesses is that if bookings are made by guests, there are all sorts of sweet bonuses.

Me,being me, decided I’d have a party. The woman consulted her diary, and was adamant that I have my party on August 11.

August 10 marks 6 years to the day since I lost Lily, and had my first miscarriage.

While the last few years have been remarkably easier on me, in the lead up to, on and after her day, I cannot predcit how I will travel emotionally.

This woman could tell I was not.wanting.this.date.at. all. But given the fact it is her job to achieve sales and party bookings, she backed me into a corner for it.

I really hate pushy people. I really really do. I am also really irritated at myself for caving and not saying “That’s the day after the anniversary of my daughter’s death, fuckstick, I don’t want this date, ok!?”

Could have, should have, didn’t.

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Positivity and lies

I was driving to work today, with a thought. I am busting my ass to keep this job, constantly trying to appear positive and enthusiatic about my workplace.

It got me thinking about the reality of my life- I am constanly, continuously trying to appear as though “everything is great,guys!”. This attitude got me through a number of  very tough times in  my life througout my teenage years. I’ve blogged about these previously. This attitude got me through both of my miscarriages. It got me through a very mentally and emotionally challenging final semester of my university studies.

This attitude gets me through life. Feeling black on the inside, and yet to anyone on the outside, I am a freakin’ ball of positivity and light.

Hell, some would say I shit rainbows!

Some days, I just want to drop this attitude.

It’s exhausting.

The power of two

I blogged previously about something that stands to affect our lives in the very near fututre ( and No, I’m not pregnant).

DF and I both went to work yesterday after the preious night’s bombshell, unsure of what was to come.

I had a much better day, clamer classes, I got home early, DF had a better day as well.

We were able to talk about what had happened, and came to the realisation that we COULD do it, build a home and pay the mortgage, however our standard of living that we’ve grown accustomed to will be the first thing to go. I’d rather go without than give up this journey.

We decided that no matter what, as long as we have each other, we’ll make everything work.

It does mean, that until things get back to normal, and we’re in a better financial position, a baby is most definitely on hold until at least 2018. Wow. That seems forever away.

But with DF by my side, we’ll be ok.

Universe and such is life

Well, when it rains, it pours.

The last few days have gone from bad to horribly bad.

Compared to what other people in our community are going through, it seems trivial, but to me, because of someone else’s decision, this falling of the axe is HUGE to my and my DF.

It affects our future, it affects our plans for something as simple as building a home.

It pretty much affects everything.

So on top of having a rough few days emotionally, my classes were off the wall yesterday, I have ruined artwork, and then came home to potentially life altering news.

The home we have just signed to build is literally the only thing keeping me going besides teaching at this school. If that is ripped away as well, I don’t know how I’ll cope.

The one thing I promised DF last night though was that no matter what, we’re getting married on the date we set for next year. Come hell or high water.

Blogging until this too, passes

I’ve hit a wall emotionally. It feels as though I’ve been driving along a straight road, and all of a sudden, BAM!, a wall appears and I smash my “car” into it.

Needless to say, the wreckage isn’t pretty.

I feel as though I have staggered out of an accident, blinking at my new reality. Picking up the pieces.

I posted on my F.B last night that I was pissed off abut the fact that because I am nearly 6 and 3 years post loss, that I feel forgotten, that my babies are forgotten, and the surprising waves of grief that creep up, don’t matter as much as other people’s because they’re fresh into their journey of loss, that their loss is “newer” than mine.

I feel a combination of overwhelming unfairness, as well as a huge cloud of guilt for wanting to throw myself on the floor and scream “MY BABIES COUNT TOO!”.

I don’t have other children, I don’t have a pregnancy to look forward to, I just have me. I consider myself to be a pretty resilient person, but today has just been one of those days where I feel like I am just floating. I feel forgotten.

It’s a strange mix of emotions to be working through.

Guilt

Selfishness

Sad

Longing

This too shall pass…

Vivid Preggo Dreams…But Not Preggo….

Urrrgh. I had a nast spell of 4 nights of very little sleep.

This has been followd up with almost a week of amazing, 10 hours a night sleep. And being up at a decent hour.

The only issue with amazing sleep?

The CRAZY ASS, VIVID, “Dream like I am pregnant, but not pregnant” dreams.

This morning, it was my grandmother being the head of a secret service organisation, rescuing me from Korea or something, and before that, I had a dream that my friend’s dad- who Idon’t like- came to live with us, bragging about how much he earns. Seriously! WTF!

The night before, however, I had the most disturbing, horrific dream. I have been known for, in the past, to have dreams that turn out to be an accurate predictor of future events. I choose not to “tap” into this, however people do believe that we all have an “ability” to see into the future, or to speak to the deceased…

I dreamed that a friend of mine ,who I have fallen out of contact with (currently preggo with number 4), was stabbed to death, as well as her 5 children, and thier grandmother. Left behind her partner. The whole thing stemmed from a neighborhood dispute I think.

Seriously, brain??? It was a horrible,vivid dream, one that I have not been able to get out of my head.

Who dreams like this??

Oh.

Me.

Hmmm….

The “R” word and the “S” word

I wish I was talking about roses and sapphires here, I really do.

Anyone who knows me, reads my blog, or recieves emails from me, knows I talk. A lot.

And more often than not, I swear, I ramble, and I say things I know I shouldn’t.

I call people stupid, I call myself lazy, retarded and a bit of a spaz.

Yes, people, THOSE “R” and “S” words.

Admittedly, I don’t think twice about it, its something that has become a part of everyday conversation, just another word.

It’s something I do not even realise I do.

So today, I managed to completely insult a group of women very dear to my heart, but unintentionally/not thinking about the connotatios of the word “spaz”. I forget, that for such a long time, it was used as a word to mock people with intellectual or physical disabilities. And I use those words as simply another part of my everyday vocabulary.

And its something, that I now, feel incredibly silly for doing.

These women are right. What “good” does it do by using those words?

Do I have a disabled child? NO.

Do I know what it is like to face the prospect of raising one? NO

Is it correct to even use the words? NO.

What entitles me to use them?

Nothing.

So to these ladies, I aplogise from the bottom of my heart. I feel silly, naieve, juvenile for using them, and for having to have it POINTED out to me that “GUESS WHAT- that offends people!”.

I am now making a conscious effort to not to do it.

Which, if I was a good person, I wouldn’t have to do in the first place.

I guess that what I am trying to say is that I need to change, and society needs to change. Using these words only upsets people who truly know the meaning behind the words.

Change begins with the individual.

Change begins with me. I can blame my age, or the fact it has become so common to use the words that they have lost meaning to many, or that it is just a part of society.

I could.

But it’s not.

It’s not good enough to make excuses.

I have to stop. And THINK. And make a change.

To these ladies ( you know who you are), you have such a special place in my heart, and I am absolutley mortified that I have upset you. I apologise from the bottom of my heart.

 

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I am aware of the fact that I am not a mother, I am certainly not a mother to a child that may be physically or mentally less-abled.

I am aware, though, that 50-60% of miscarriages occur because of chromosomal abnormalities-because there was something significantly wrong with the developing baby.

My reasons for my miscarriages? I chose not to know, not to have any further testing.

But there’s a pretty high chance that it was chromosomal, and therfore a pretty high chance that I could have parented a disabled child.

It was my body that killed my babies, and given the fact that it “could have been me”, I do need to think about what I am saying.

Feeling very ashamed of myself tonight.

 

So, last Thursday, I cracked.

Big time.

Months of stress, exhaustion and frustration finally came out and I crashed mentally.

I think I have finally reached what people call ‘burn out’.

I. Am. Just. Exhausted.

I went home to my parents for a 4 day rest. Needless to say, I needed it.

I am studying full time, working part time, at uni 4 out of 7 days usually, money is very worrying right now, I run a house, do the grocery shopping, do the majority of the cooking and cleaning in a home of 4 people, I am always, ALWAYS there for my friends and family when they need me.

My mother says that I simply undervalue what I do. I do a lot- too much for me to cope with lately. I have always believed that I am ‘just’ a student, therefore am unofficially expected to do a little more than my house mates. But in all honesty, they’re taking it for granted. Even DF.

So an increase in my happy pills Zoloft and a brief break have allowed me to slowly get my head back together. I’m on 100mg a day now, and playing it by ear. Also we see a return to the therapist. Tell you- batshit crazy here.

I am no where near ok, but I am coping. My housemate even cleaned the whole house the other day.

I haven’t been able to pick up a text book or do any form of study since the week before last. I have grand plans to sit down and do some work tomorrow. Honest. I think my poor brain just needs a break.

I’m exhausted, shattered, but working through it.

And on this note;

“This morning’s dawn light painted by the sky for you…Today the breeze dances in honour of you…Tonight it will be the moon and the stars sending out shining rays…” (Unknown Author)

A post inspired by Mo

I was reading through my “tag surfer” posts, where people who have the same tags in their posts as me, they come up and I stalk read them.

Mo (mommyodyssey.wordpress.com) blogged about “then” and “now” and how her 22 year old self was the same as her 31 year old self, but so vastly different.

I wanted to cry, as I read her beautiful post.

It said to me “I am ok, and I am ok with that.”

It made me reflect on my life, all of 22 years myself.

I too, as Mo has, suffered (for the majority of the time) from un-diagnosed depression. Since I was about 14, I have struggled with dark thoughts, down moods and bouts of crying. That’s the clean version.

But then, I look at the events in my life, and I cannot believe it.

Despite severe depression, self harming, starving myself, falling pregnant, miscarrying, working myself to the bone, meeting DF, moving away from home to uni, doing reasonably well and never accepting it, falling pregnant, miscarrying, back to uni, joining a P&IL volunteer group and making a genuine difference, moving in with DF, struggling with an even more severe bout of depression, I look back and smile.

Despite ALL of that- that is the short version- I have come to the realisation that I have gone through ALL of that, I have come out on top. I am in a relationship- an honest, respectful, amazing relationship- with a man whom I love with all of my heart, I am completely supporting meyself and living with DF, I am about to embark on my dream career, a career I knew I wante to persue since I was 13, as a teacher. I am a good teacher. I really am.

I am a teacher, a sister, a daughter, a finace, a mother, a friend, a support to the P&IL community.

I am ok, and I am ok with that.

I am me, and I have come out on top, despite all the crap the universe has thrown at me.

Thankyou Mo for reminding me of this.

There’s support, and then there’s “Like us because we’ll support you better!!”

Facebook is an amazing thing. For a long time after my first miscarriage, I felt as though I was lost, alone.

Then, gradually, I was introduced to more and more support and memorial sites on FB.

It started out as great support. I was free to talk about my baby all I wanted, I met other people on the same journey as me. Then, as the support groups ( all not for profit) became more and more, the “support” lessened, and the “likes” began.

I have only managed to find a couple of sites where the emphais is providing support, and not on how many people “like” the group, or how many people have donated to it, or spreading awareness of each individual group so that someone can be supported by “x” group as opposed to “y” group, because they do a “better” job of providing thier serivices.

It is not about numbers or money. It is about heart.

I’ve struggled with providing information to parents following a loss, as I do not want to direct them somewhere where they are just a number, or after a while, they’re asked to donate money.

There are only a handful of sites I direct people to now, and I have never, ever been asked to donate money, or to tell as many people as possible about the grief support site.

If you’re an active member of a grief support group, or the founder of one- remember support should come from the heart. There are many ways in which you can do this without having to ask for money or advertising.  It is just about thinking outside the square.

I know of a group that essentially runs itself- where parents talk to each other when they need it-and it did not cost anything. Except passion and love that drove it.

Support groups should be about heart, not numbers.