peachyfuckingnot

Back to what I do have.

I don't blog about that much. Well because this blog is about me, about grief, about Yuna.

I'm not for a second ungrateful for what I do have. It's just earth shattering to realise the finality of where I'm at right now. The loss of my womb at only 24.

My feelings as a woman, as a mother.

I love my children. I do. But I also miss, well grieve the daughter I will never see live a long life. The baby I'll never know. She is memory more than real. I just struggle knowing it was all taken from me. Motherhood.

I don't say I have three children anymore. That's not forgetting, it just seems now time has passed it's socially unacceptable to do so. To talk of a dead baby as if she were part of the family. *insert sarcasm here*

This Western world sucks at death. Especially dead babies.

Ssh it's taboo. I want it to be real. To cry in public. Swear at Dr Fuckwitt and his pink shirts. Tell random strangers how sad I am. Reveal myself. Not pretend.

Be socially unacceptable.

Peachyfuckingnot...

They have pills for that kind of behaviour though.

Blogger vomit and random thoughts

This is a few days old or maybe it's weeks now... When I ovulate it seems to coincide with a very intense journal writing session. So here it is.

Night. Dark.

Enemy or trusted companion?

I can be open. Be true to myself, yet I despise this time so much.

I dread waiting for it to arrive yet at the same time I crave it too.

But faithfully it always arrives. Soaks my soul. Whispers to me, to let it out. It's safe here, now.

The days are too bright. They don't truly reflect my inner core. It's fake, cheery. I am not.

The days I spend functioning. Being human. Fulfilling my mother role. Getting on with it but internally struggling with the mere act of breathing in and out. Enjoying my boys like every other day but the night comes and I'm alone in my world, darkness as friend.

The world where it's real. The world where I feel.

The world where the waves crash upon my fragile self over and over again.

I don't know what it is, perhaps when the children sleep, the quiet is overwhelming. My duties are complete yet there is always something missing.

Time heals I know. I don't think that missing feeling will ever fade in intensity. It just is.

I wasn't even consciously thinking of her last night when the darkness became too much. I felt that thumping in my chest begin to pound furiously and then the tears fell. It shocked me. Usually it's a photo, a smell, a day, a place. This time it was nothing. It took over. Crying makes me feel heavy and generally worse. It just makes me think more.

Random Thoughts:

• It's the little things I miss. Breastfeeding mostly. I never got that opportunity.
• Through birth I am her mother, a mother to a daughter but I will never BE her mother or a mother to a daughter.
• I cannot imagine her. Does that make me awful because I cannot imagine what she would have looked like? It hurts to think about that. She would have looked just like me but she's not here so why try to imagine?
• I hate seeing photos of me as a child because I see her in me. I'll never see her grow.
• I can't stand this light hearted banter about things she's doing or would do either here or in spirit. Nor her personality.
• She's not an angel or in heaven. Nor am I an angel mummy.
• She was my baby, my daughter, a human person and yes she's dead.
• I hate him, my body, his hands, Them.
• I am not a woman. I am a sliced, mutilated, butchered empty shell.

Well those were quite random and much deeper than I expected to go. I'm not entirely sure blog world is ready for that.

The first year.

Perhaps I don't blog as often as I'd like because I feel the need to blog something of importance or interest? Not that anything already here is interesting or important. It's just a blergh blog. I'm happy with that. It makes me feel better to vent. Even if I'm the only one reading it.

Tonight shall be a free blog. Whatever comes.

I'd like to be the girl with the journal. Always writing, but it just doesn't come. I don't know how many of those I've started in my years. Nothing ever flows. Maybe at 2am when I can't sleep but really, who actually wakes up enough to write in a journal? Maybe I need to.

So the "big" week is over. A friend actually said "so it's all over now" as if now that her first birthday has passed and the first anniversary of her death is done we can all move on, put it behind us? Perhaps for some. I'm not at all saying that we should live in the past or be gloomy forever. It just took me by surprise that those around me must have been waiting for this big event with the anticipation that life would once again go back to normal. That they can stop treading on ice and put it all behind them now.Stop asking how I am? Stop caring? Stop saying they'll think if her? Stop understanding?

No need to mention it again. Like the first is the one to make a big deal of. All the rest, well it depends how you want to grieve. Some anniversaries will be just as intense as the first. Some easier. I'm not sure where I'm headed. Best not to make plans. I think that's how I survived the year. Don't make plans. Don't expect anything. Just wake up each day and breathe...

Her birthing day (the day before her actual birthday) was more intense for me. All those feelings, memories, smells, dreams and wishes came flooding back. Like time had never passed. I felt like a video played in my head. It was all so clear. The bitter sweetness of it all. The complete change in our lives from those few hours the year before. Life couldn't have been better. I was giving birth and it was wonderful, beyond words. I spent the day mostly alone, arranging flowers, lighting candles and just wandering around keeping busy. Much the same as I would have been doing the year before.

Then we entered into the intensity of the "birthday" where for me I don't really remember much, actually. It wasn't a significant day for me. I guess we just did what we thought we were supposed to do. Celebrate your dead daughters would have been first birthday. It was just a weird strained feeling. Nice looking from the outside, but something was missing. Hmmph funny about that. I'm glad we did what we did, but it was all just out of place. Although I felt like we should have done something, not nothing, even if none of us actually wanted to.

Then came the ultimate low. Almost like coming down from that birth high. I was left feeling numb and sad. We just spent 2-3 days trying to pretend we're a happy family "celebrating" a person's birthday who isn't here. Life returns to the way it was before. We retreat to the corner to lick our wounds. Go our own way. Alone. Functioning as the days pass into the next year. We survived the first year after the death. Apparently that's a triumph?

I know I know

Is it for me or is it for you? That I'm not entirely sure. I guess it doesn't really matter. Once it's out, it's out. Said and done.

Again this week is moving like slow motion. A lot like the same week a year ago. Only I was high on a cocktail of drugs and trapped inside a hospital. This time I'm only trapped inside myself. My own thoughts. I'm not sure which is worse.

I'm too exhausted to post photos from Yuna's birthday or even blog about it for that matter. I'll get around to it eventually. I also have some placenta planting stuff to blog about but that can wait a few days too. I need to compose my thoughts a little more. I know, a lot less random. Not my usual style! But as always I like to piece out my thoughts, see where they came from and where they're taking me next. There are so many emotions flowing through me I don't know where to start.

This week has been like flying blind. Not knowing how, when or what to feel. Searching for things that I'll never grasp. Story of my life these days. I still don't know what I'm supposed to be doing. No one ever wrote a book about the 12 step program to recovery when your baby dies.

Trying to remember the little details. Reliving every moment just to know I'm not dreaming.

Feeling a wee bit insane. Trying to forge on, cheer up and love.

Love. That's a tough one. Maybe I need a whole new blog about my love issues?