Surviving Through The Madness

Surviving Through The Madness

Rocking back and forth on an uncertain cliff. “Should I give up or continue the good fight?” I preach words of fighting through the darkness and just faking it until you make it, but in the end do I really believe it myself? How easy would it be to just throw my hands in the air and bow out with my dignity still intact? These are things I ask myself everyday.

Recently I was approached by a long lost friend to hear out a gifted individual who helped impact her life in a very positive way. I was a little skeptical but still wanted to give it a chance. I’m feeling broken and lost. Unable to muster up the energy to believe my own lies of happiness. I need a map through this dark hole I’ve found myself in and if this girl can help me I’m willing to give it a shot.

With a little bit of skepticism and a small amount of hope I began to ask my questions, afraid of the answers I’d get in return. The first response threw me for a loop. I was shaken to my core. I knew that things would need to change. I can’t continue on this path. But how? How do I find the light when there is so much darkness around me? I used to be able to pretend enough to actually believe it myself. It got so good at faking it that I was no longer acting, that I was actually happy. This time is different, this feels much worse.

There has been only one time in my life when I felt this low, the day that my Nana passed away. The feeling of hopelessness set it immediately. No words could fix the pain that was radiating through my soul. I wanted to die. I wanted to be with her. When people speak of a “broken heart” it’s a true statement. My heart literally felt broken. I just knew that if the doctors would give me an x-ray that it would prove I had a hole in my heart where my Nana had once been. Well it is the same now. I feel physically weak. I barely sleep, force myself to eat, forgetting things that I should easily remember. I feel lost. Like I’m in a nightmare and I can’t wake up.

As I pry myself out of bed in the mornings I whisper to myself, “you can do this” “you are strong” “you have to make it through just one more day” soon enough that one more day turns into another….and another…..and another. I allow myself ten minutes to cry and let it all out so I can continue on with my day. Thoughts of those sweet angels frequent my brain and I’m filled with intense sadness. I excuse myself to the restroom and allow myself to weep. The work day ends and I return home. I’m angry by this point. Mad at the parents who have children that they neglect. Mad at people who don’t understand my sadness. Mad at people who have the audacity to try to hurt others. I’m just angry. I don’t want to talk, to engage. I feel like I’ve paid my dues for the day.

At the beginning of my journey I set out to find the old me. To “manifest a little mess” which if you haven’t been following my blog, is my nickname since I was a child. I wanted to find the old me that had been absent for quite some time. I found her. Life was good. Really good! But somewhere along the way she vanished again. I was rereading past blogs trying to see what I did different the last time around. Trying to find some sanity through all my madness.

I’m going to rediscover my love for meditation. I remember just drifting off into my own world and returning zen and at peace. Lately the thought of it makes me irate; however, I know I need it. I need to tap back into my spiritual being. I’ve become so cynical and negative in all this. As much as I can’t even fathom the idea now I know I need to get back to the gym. Working out always makes me happy in the long run. It’s me time, but me time that I can’t just sit and cry during. My plan of action is to attempt making time for yoga in the morning before I go to work again. In some type of grand illusion to get me centered and rejuvenated for the chaos at work.

I know life is tough right now. Things are not easy. As much as I want to quit my job, give up on school, distance myself from my friends, become a recluse…… I know that isn’t going to help me through this. I need my work to distract me and keep some sort of normalcy going on. I need my friends to lift me up when my legs give out beneath me. For now I’ll continue to “fake it till I make it” in high hopes of actually making it through all this. Just bare with me. Love me a little louder, hug me a lot tighter, and be patient with me. I’m trying as hard as I can muster.

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The day after I gave up….

The day after I gave up….

There are moments in your life, tragic, unseen events that grab hold of you and knock the wind out of you. Moments that make you feel as if you can’t go on. The day after I gave up was the day after my 2nd ectopic pregnancy, the sun was shining and I was pissed. “What kind of sick joke is this?” I thought to myself. I stepped outside to grab my pills trying to ease the pain. The air was so smooth, the birds were chirping, everyone was smiling and I wanted to die. 

The day after I gave up we went out to distract ourselves. We visited family had small talk, laughed, and I excused myself to go wallow in my own misery in the bathroom. I looked at this beautiful painting my finances grandmother had painted and wanted to end it right then and there. We went to get our favorite vegan meal and I prayed it would leave a bitter taste in my mouth. As I waited for our food I harped on how long it was taking. I looked across the way and saw a lesbian couple cooing over their baby. Resentment set in and hurt took over my heart. Why is it that they can have a perfectly healthy baby and I lost two? 

The day after I gave up I had nonexistent memories of our sweet girls running on the beach with their father, skim boards in tow. Laughing with beautiful dirty blonde hair and sun kissed olive tan skin. Waving and smiling at me to watch them as they skated off into the ocean waves. 

The day after I gave up we went to a beautiful overlook of Berkeley. We’ve been there time and time again with no success of seeing SanFran in the distance, but the day after I gave up we did. The lights lit up the cities and you could see the spectacular designs on the bridge. 

The day after I gave up my inbox was flooded by my aunts and cousins. By my friends that loved me dear. I was embraced with all this love and support. Yet I still felt alone. 

The day after I gave up I held onto all the things people had been telling me during this pregnancy. “This time it’s going to be okay” “you don’t have to worry” “it’s all in your head” 

The day after I gave up I told myself it was okay to let go. People will continue on and understand why you did. You will see your babies and be the mother to them you didn’t have the chance to be.

The night after I gave up I layed my head down and tried to fall asleep. I woke up to the sound of my love crying while he slept. I stroked his head and tried to comfort him softly without waking him. His breathing became a song along with the thump thump of his heart beat. It drifted into a lullaby as if to help me fall back to a peaceful slumber.

The morning I decided to fight the sunlight shinned through my window and I was greeted with a kiss from my love. My heart was sad but hopeful. The pain remained but I had a new look on life. Once again I held dear to the people who reached out and loved me through the tragic experience and told myself how I wouldn’t want them to feel the pain of loss as I am feeling it now. The morning I decided to fight I was told that my babies mattered and we’re shining down on me being looked after by my Nana. The morning after I decided to fight I was reminded of who I am and what I come from. A family of women who are survivors. Cancer, lupus, autoimmune diseases, drug addictions, and no infant loss. The morning i decided to fight was the morning I started fully living again.

The Due Date

‚ÄčHurled over my steering wheel crying my eyes out. Tears pouring out in a heavy stream, my knuckles and wrists sore from punching my windows so hard I’m surprised they didn’t break. Heart shattered like glass. I had to keep it together, I didn’t want to come in to the house and let everyone know, once again I was losing it. Screaming at God for doing this to me. “I don’t ask you for anything! Please! Please! This one thing! Fix it! Give it back to me! I’ll do anything I pleaded!” But still you were gone.
After I lost my sweet little bird I cried for days, weeks, but after time people begin to forget. I couldn’t forget. You were mine and I was yours. We were apart of one another. Our souls meshed into one. I tried to keep myself busy so I didn’t have another episode, but after something like that I believe it’s easier said then done. A month had passed and I was finally able to go a day without crying, the dark thoughts had subsided, and I was starting to heal. When people notice you are starting to feel like you self again they try to knock you back down, keep you in your place. I had someone who I thought was my friend tell me they were going to do a nice act by finding me and gifting to me something in remberance of you. In the end it was a ploy to hurt me. I broke down again. It may seem silly to others, but anyone who has gone through a loss like that knows that every thing surrounding the tramatic situation is a trigger. Babies, the ribbon, the name, birthdays, everything. Once again I had to mend my heart and start a new. I’ve been fine for weeks now. The occasional sad thoughts, but I try to keep it positive. I don’t allow myself to feel the pain, as bad as it hurts.

“One week and two days” the email read. I opened it not really paying much attention to the sender. “You’re baby is the size of a leek! You’re due date is one week and two days….” it went one but the words got jumbled. I wanted to scream, but the boys would hear me. Instead I rolled over and let it out into my pillow, the maturity pillow I bought the same day I found out. Today it feels like I’ve lost you all over again. I keep telling myself to be strong, think positive, but every beat of my heart won’t let you go. “Does this ever get better?”,  I write to my ectopic pregnancy group hoping for some sort of comfort. Just to delete the thred. Knowing any words or reply will just numb the pain for a millisecond. I’m was just looking for a band aid.

 People tell me a God has a plan. I try with all my soul to envision this “plan”. If they only knew that I had forced myself to be around people because I was so scared of what I might do if I was alone back then. It’s hard to not be angry at God. With all the suffering from something like losing a baby causes, what could possibly be positive from all that. As time as gone on I try to just my mind clear of any negative thoughts surrounding it.

I’ve had to implement a new self help/ coping strategy when ever I feel that the day is just going to get to me. If I’m at home I’ll take a nice relaxing bath or I’ll go sit outside. Fresh air helps clear my mind. When I’m at work I’ll try to focus really hard on what I’m doing, I through myself into every activity we have going that day. Anything to keep me busy. I’ll play music to help me focus on something else. Trying to decipher what the artist might have been trying to convey at the time. If none of this helps then I’ll excuse myself to the restroom and just allow the tears to fall. I’m only human and I can only be strong for so long before I break. 7 times out of 10 the tears win. But I know that one day I’ll be able to look back on this and forget all the sadness it caused and just remember how amazing and happy I felt when I was oblivious to it all and my thoughts were just filled with you.