These four walls have never been the same since the day I found out about your existence. This white room, this porcelain tub…. none of it feels the same since that day. This was the room I first saw those two blue lines and this was the room I ran to after I knew I had lost you.
As I soak in the same tub I contracted in I feel so much pain. My heart aches and longs to just know any sense of who you would have been. You would be over a year by now. You would have a new baby sibling and the miscarriage would have never had the chance to happen. I feel guilty when I think of you. My heart broke just the same with the 2nd ectopic and the miscarriage, but for some reason my mind always wanders back to you. My first. My sweet Elowyn.
I thought I knew what love was before you. I thought I had felt a broken heart. But nothing compares to the love I have for you. The moment I knew of you I wanted nothing more but to protect my womb because I knew that was your place of survival. The soul shattering realization that the same body and person that was supposed to protect you is the same reason you aren’t here today. I’ve waited a long time for this pain to lessen. I remember people saying that it wouldn’t hurt so bad after awhile but there are moments when I feel a tinge in my stomach, the same fluttering feeling I would feel when I thought you were thriving inside of me, and suddenly it’s hard to breathe. I’m brought right back into that moment in the hospital when I had to chose between your life and mine. Ive been working hard on myself even though the doctors said that there was nothing I could have done differently it’s hard not to blame myself. I could have been skinnier, I could have done more yoga do eliminate stress, I could have taken more supplements. All these things creep in and I begin to blame myself. I want so badly to try again.
Being a mom and holding my baby is something I want more than the air I breathe, but the joy of pregnancy has been damaged and smudged with chemo shots and multiple hospital visits. Three pregnancies with three angels in heaven has made the thought and idea of pregnancy so traumatic I can’t even fathom what it would be like to bring my sweet angel to term when the time comes. In the months to follow I hope you stay close to me every step of the way. Trying to conceive is hard enough on its own without all the stress of making it past my dreaded 5 week marker. I know that you will be with me helping me through any negative pregnancy test or any slightest twinge I might experience when I do get pregnant again. My sweet first love. I wish you were here with me. Just know that I think and dream of you often.
The taste of last nights antics still lingering on my tongue when I woke this morning. The memories and darkness come creeping in. My soul longing for my next drag and drink. Anything to keep the sadness at bay. Overwhelmed and overloaded. Filling my life with anything to distract me from the fact that my heart is in a dismay.
Weekdays full of work, school, working out. Any down time results in clouds and rain. Get up and go for round 2. Keep on keeping on meaning keep busy so you don’t lose sanity.
To speak my pain into words would mean that it was real and it happened. I won’t allow it. I can’t let this break me. Not again, I tell myself. There’s a dark cloud hanging over my heart.
When the tears begin to fall I know it’s time for another diversion. Anything to create some confusion within myself to make me forget and be filled with something to hide me from my own pain. Illusion after illusion. I jut really miss you.
My mother has decided I have a drinking problem. I’ve decided I have a remedy for an excessive amount of bullshit and pain being dumped on me at any given moment. Enduring pain that would bring grown men to their knees. 3 pregnancies lost in less than two years. A family in disarray. And a love for a father who’s trapped in OZ.
The same thing that can save me is the one thing I’m afraid will kill me. Wants, needs, and desperation. Refusing to open up the slightest afraid that no one will understand. “Cheer up” “You okay?” Stifled with a witty remark.
Attempting to save myself from myself. This was easy the first time around. A false and inaccurate use of the word, but easier compared to now. With every day I got a little bit stronger. I relish for that feeling again. Jealous of the person I was before. Proud for mustering up to courage to push on.
“How do people help you through it when you shut them out?” How hard is it to make yourself vulnerable just to be unheard and misunderstood. Mistakes you can’t allow yourself to make. So you long for the next interference in your heartache.
The weekends creep in and you pray someone calls to fill the next two days with amusement and engross your time until the busy week approaches once again. The two days others long for are the days you despise the most.
Monday comes and your hands are idle no longer.
The world can be a scary place to live. Especially when you’re in jr high school. In school I got bullied a lot. I was the quirky kid. I had “friends”, but they always picked on me for being weird. Weird to them wasn’t that I played with Yugioh cards or acted out Pokémon in the field like the rest of the kids they labeled “weird”. My weirdness was the fact that I was nice. They would tease me trying to get me to react in a volatile way. Always uping it a notch further. The last straw was when my mom bought me this cheerleading outfit from Limited Too. I was so excited to wear it the following Monday because it was sports theme for spirit week. My mom was hesitant about letting me wear it to school because she didn’t want me to ruin it. After hours of heavy persuading I finally convinced her I would take good care of it. That Monday I strutted into school feeling so cool. I couldn’t wait for my friends to see me. I told one of my friends about my moms fear of it getting messed up and she laughed. During lunch we are on the bleachers, there was a lot of whispering and more side conversations then usual. I started to notice that I wasn’t apart of them. I packed up my stuff and began to walk off the bleachers when one of the girls behind me called my name. As I turned around another girl behind me poured a cup of juice over my head. I wanted to scream, but all I could do was cry. I kept asking “why did you do that?” “Did you do it on purpose?” as I sobbed. No one answered, they just laughed. One of the girls began to call me names, “you’re so stupid”, she said. I felt the anger start to build. Without thinking I punched her in the face. She fell off the bleachers. I had never felt so horrible in my whole life. That’s what they wanted. They wanted to kill my kindness and I let them win.
That weekend was my grandparents weekend to have me so I went over to visit. My Nana had heard how I was suspended and wanted to talk about what happened. I told her how the girls called me names and said I was too nice. That I was weird because I didn’t stick up for myself. I explained how I felt after they poured the juice on me and how cruel they were for laughing and calling me names after. I told her they had it coming. My Nana had never looked so disappointed. She said,” there will be times in your life when you get knocked down and you want to knock someone down with you, but don’t. You are a Cupples, your stronger then that” I knew that what I had done was wrong, but it felt good to make her pay for calling me names. “Don’t let the world change who you are. Only me, your papa, and you know who you really are and I love the Rissy you are. Don’t let it weaken you. Don’t let this world change that.” Since that talk with my Nana I have always tried to stay true to me. Never let the world or things that happen change who I am.
Struggling with trying to conceive a child and have it implant in the right location as changed me. It’s weakened me. I have been at rock bottom for a long time because of this. I find myself in this constant struggle of “fake it till you make it”. This whole ordeal has made me into a different person. At first I was trying to be so nice to people because I started to realize you never know what others might be going through so treat them with kindness. When I realized that was turning me into a doormat I began treating people the same way they treated me. Like total and utter shit. Ignoring them how they did me, giving them shit the same way they would, being very petty, lowering myself to their level. One day I took a hard look in the mirror and started to cry. I let the world change me. Every experience I tried to block and and keep strong I let in and make me into a person I am not.
If I’ve said it once in these blogs I’ve said it a million times, “rock bottom became the very foundation I rebuilt myself on”. I’m not perfect, I’m learning everyday just like the rest of you. This spiritual journey hasn’t been easy. It’s a journey. But I try not to give up. I roll with the bunches…… sometimes I’m just rolling for longer then I expected. Things that shifted me before aren’t shifting me in this present time so I will have to keep tinkering with things till I find what works for me to have my spiritual enlightenment again. It’s a process and a journey, but I’m grateful for the people along for the ride. I kinda forgot how gangster it is to be kind to everyone know matter what.
Faking smiles as my friends around me announce details about their pregnancies. Inside I want to cry. This was supposed to be something we can share in together, yet I’m envious of the months they still have. 9 long months they gripe. I laugh it off, inside screaming I wish I had this empty womb filled with uncomfortable kicks, pokes, and pain I could cherish. With every picture and video of their sweet babies I break a little inside. The look of joy on their faces wishing I could share in these moments of my own.
When you have a miscarriage, ectopic pregnancy, early pregnancy loss you feel the obligation to keep it hush hush. Don’t make anyone feel uncomfortable I tell myself. It’s taboo to speak about. You start to feel alone. While everyone is speaking about the baby they will have soon, you’re mourning the one you lost. The idea of closure seems so unobtainable. How can you move on when you never got to know your baby? The social norm for talks of being a mother to a baby you have no proof ever existed is no existent. You don’t see posts on social media about it because to most mothers who have heald and swaddled their babies we are not mothers is the full sense of the word. I feel I needed validation in the beginning that I am indeed a mother. Not because I needed to be a part of some exclusive club, but because I wanted to make sure I preserved my babies existence. My baby was real. On mothers day I had an overwhelming amount of friends tell me Happy Mothers Day. It made my whole day. It was like they were sending little hugs to my baby in heaven with their kind words and support.
A couple nights ago I dreamt everything all over again. Every excruciating detail. Instead this time I got to see you. I just remember thinking God she’s beautiful! You had my nose and lips. It was only a ultrasound picture, but in my dream I treasured it dearly. When I awoke I felt empty. I begged my brain to hush and allow me to sleep and dream of you once again, but the pain kept me awake. The whole day I felt lost. I longed for that picture.
I don’t know when this is going to get easier. I try to trick myself with a cocktail of Prozac and wine that I’m okay. The depression sets in and I feel lost. Caressing an empty womb as if you were there once again. I can’t express the pain I feel in verbal sentences. It gets distorted and I attempt to laugh it off while inside I feel like I’m dying. I’m physically and emotionally exhausted these days. The doctor told me to give it some time for the wounds to heal and the Prozac to take over. I feel every laugh forced and every smile smeared across is so easily read as a fake. I’m not a hugger, I’ve never been into hugs unless I’m the one initiating them, but lately I find myself wishing for them. Just that embrace makes the pain hurt a little less, even if just for a moment. I’m taking it day by day, praying for a miracle. My heart just feels broken these days. I’m looking for the light at the end of this storm.
When I started this blog, the original reason was to track my spiritual journey. I titled it “Manifesting a Little Mess” it was a play on the nickname my family had given me when I was a little girl. “Mess” my uncle coined me. Now this blog has grown into something much deeper. I’ve really been able to find myself along this past year leading me up to the point where I literally was Manifesting a little mess…. a little me. A baby. I’m now embarking on healing from all this chaos and trying to produce another Mess, not a replacement, just another.
Cleaning my room the other day I came across my first hospital bracelet. The first time it was confirmed that I was pregnant with her and also that I was losing her. It brought back a rush of emotions. I packed it away in her memory box. In our hearts, the ones who loved my little bird so much, she was a she from the beginning. I think that’s something that makes it easier. You have all these unanswered questions when you lose a child in early pregnancy. Whats the gender? What would it have looked like? But if you start to imagine your baby, healing becomes easier.
Ive been beyond depressed with everything that has transpired. I don’t want to leave my bed, I dont want to see friends, being around children is extremely excruciating. Its a pain I havent felt before. I had been avoiding my doctors visits and refusing blood draws because it meant number one, I would have to be in a waiting room full of new and expecting mothers and number two…… seeing my hcg levels drop would mean you were really gone.
Last Friday I finally went in and my levels were decreasing as expected. I broke down. They sent me to see the counselor. I could barely get a word out between the tears and trying to catch my breath. She told me I was severely depressed. “Ya think”, I thought. She recommended I take some time off from work and really work on getting better, but to me work helps. Its a routine. It forces me to get up and put a smile on no matter how fake. She prescribed me some prozac and told me she wants to see me every Friday. Leaving there I couldn’t help but think about something she had said. “You’re sick”, she said, “depression is like any other disease. If you had cancer would you refuse to see a doctor? No you would get treatment so you can get better. Marissa, I want to help you get better and I want you to want this as well. Its not going to be easy but it’ll be worth it. ” Before losing my baby I was doing better. I was working on becoming a better me. I set off on a spiritual journey of self improvement and enlightenment. I was happy. I was able to combate my bipolar mania and depression with meditation, yoga, blogging, reading, and manifesting. I was active in my friends lives. Now I’ve lost all that and have distanced myself from the ones I love.
My friend recently sent me a picture
It has inspired me to do better. To feel better. In no way will I ever forget the fact that I was once pregnant with a beautiful baby. It doesn’t take away from the fact that I AM A MOTHER. I’m just a mommy to a beautiful Angel baby who lives in heaven. Growing up I always said I wanted to be the best mom I could be for my child. I can’t be a good mom to anyone if I am so sad that I can’t even find the strength to brush my hair on some days. I will not plant my roots in this depressing state I’m in. I will fight on. Its not going to be easy and I know that, but I’ve got some great people willing to help carry me when I cant stand to walk anymore. Im gonna be okay.