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Numb it.

Is it me or is everyone pregnant or holding a baby these days? My boyfriend said the other day that everyone has babies and pregnancies so I’m going to eventually have to deal with this. So easy for someone without a uterus to say. He didn’t mean it cruelly and he is right. I’m just not sure how to begin.

But for now I’m just numbing it.

Wine, vodka, food. Whatever is handy. Last night I drank 3 glasses of wine by myself. No I don’t need help and no I’m not an alcoholic. But it’s nice to numb it all sometimes and get a little instant happiness.

Unfortunately it usually just numbs everything else and the pain and sadness is all that remains. So there I sit. Drunk and sad.

I lied to my friend.

The pain of it all got so intense, right after the abortion. I was sorry I had done it the second it was over and spent the next 3-4 days wishing constantly I could turn back time. And I HAD to talk to my best friend about it, she and I help each other through everything. I couldn’t tell her what I had actually done, she had a gorgeous 5 month old baby she was excited about him.

So I lied. I told her I had a miscarriage.

I knew almost immediately this was a mistake. I wish I had thought it through further.

She did what she always does, gave me love and sympathy.  I didn’t know it until that moment, but I wanted neither. I don’t deserve sympathy or love. I wanted silence about it for a while. Even now, when I go through a few days of despair she senses it and knows its about the baby. That is when she starts in with the, “you can try again and have more!” positive stuff that makes it worse. I don’t want to try again, I wasn’t trying to begin with. I do, however and always will want the baby I had back.

I wish I hadn’t lied to her. I just added to the complicated misery of the whole thing. There are so many women who do lose babies and deserve love and sympathy over it. It is a horrible thing.

I killed my child, I didn’t lose it.

 

 

Today I began thinking of what I am really mourning. I’m clearly mourning the potential. The idea. The what could have been. It was an early abortion so my baby hadn’t truly formed yet. It was just a lump of potential.

It’s like those boys I cried over in my early teens who never really were my boyfriends, just boys I had huge crushes on lots of hormones causing drama in my own little mind. Those tears were spilled over potential (possibly in my teenage head alone).

But I want that baby back today. I have a day off from work and am sitting in one of my favorite places on earth, a huge lush garden near our home. I woke up feeling almost normal, laughing over a strange dream I had. My baby’s father sent me a funny text and I sent back a pretty picture from where I was sitting. Then out of nowhere the picture of me sitting in this very spot nursing our baby peacefully popped into my head and I started sobbing. Right in front of a group of school children touring the garden from some far away norse land. Thank god for those big dark sunglasses in my purse.

About my baby’s father.

I am so very lucky to have gone through this nightmare with him, but his body wasn’t the one involved.  He didn’t spend weeks after murdering our baby with sore breasts that needed to nurse a no longer living child and an aching sore womb. Literally and figuratively.  I wonder if he ever thinks about our child or if he just worries about me.  He is one of the most empathetic people I have ever met .

How do two people who adore each other move past something like this? Will I ever forgive us? Will he? I wonder if I will ever truly be able to be with him free and clear with no thoughts of how he drove me that day. How he held me when I cried. How he sat with me while I dry heaved over the toilet, sweeping my hair back and covering me with a blanket, even running to the store at some ungodly hour to get me something soothing.  So loving and understanding.

I go through phases of blaming him (silently), which for the record he does a fine job of on his own. He just seems to be the only person I can blame when I am not blaming myself, which is constant.  This is on me though, I am almost 40 and capable of making decisions.

I have been grateful for this man in more ways than can ever be spoken. In many, MANY ways he has saved me and healed me.  Sometimes I hate myself for even telling him and not just shouldering this alone.

When I told him I was pregnant I didn’t ask for his opinion. I didn’t say “what are we going to do?” I know him and our situation well enough to know how he would answer.  I deeply wanted to hear him say something that ended with the phrase, “… lets keep it” but I knew I wouldn’t hear those words. And it isn’t his fault. And he doesn’t know I felt that way.

I am lucky this man even glanced my way when we started dating. He is gorgeous. And brilliant and giving and hilarious. He is the most beautiful soul.

And that is another reason I mourn this decision I made.  Our baby might have had his eyes or his humor or his infectious glowing smile.

Forgiveness.

Forgiveness has always been a strange word in my life. I am the daughter of a mentally ill woman, so the need for forgiveness came on a daily basis growing up.  Most of my friends don’t struggle with it, they either freely forgive or hold grudges. I am a strange combination of the two.  I have a difficult time forgiving friends who hurt me… its ridiculous and I wish it weren’t this way.  In my 30’s I have gotten much better at forgiving, and always at least try.

I am still working on forgiving the woman who harmed me severely in a car accident but I think that will just take more time than has passed already.

Forgiving myself is just confusing. I am, as I have mentioned before, a Catholic. I feel guilty about so much all the time.  I’m not sure what I have forgiven myself for in the past. Nothing this big I am sure.  I’m not sure where to start. The due date of my baby is approaching rapidly and I worry about it.

In the past I have processed the big changes in my life by the ocean. It seems to absorb my pain or confusion and enhance my happiness. A few weeks ago I stood at the oceans edge waiting and waiting for that feeling I usually get. That lighter feeling as if Poseidon has taken my burdens on as his own. This time nothing came.  Just nothing. I said quietly, “I need you to take this from me” over and over but still no relief.

I don’t even know how to begin to forgive myself. And it isn’t a time thing, time doesn’t change what I did.

Those moments.

It’s within those moments of complete despair and sadness, when you think briefly for a moment that you don’t want to see another sunrise that your remember who you really are and there are things left here for you to do.

I’ve only had suicidal thoughts twice in my life. The first time was after an accident I’d been involved in. I was fairly damaged from it and a doctor told me, while truly gazing into my eyes, that I may never be the same and may not recover. I went home that day and imagined slitting my wrists till my blood poured from me till I felt no more pain. But those thoughts went away and I recovered.

The second time was yesterday. I’ve spent nearly every moment of the past 6 months hating myself for what I did. I don’t think I will ever forgive myself. Ever. And I can’t take it back or change the fact that I murdered my baby before it took it’s first breath. I’ve gained weight. I’ve isolated myself from my friends and family. I’ve shoved away the most beautiful man in my life who adores me completely and stood by me. I’ve stopped living since I did it.

What stopped me from opening my veins? My son. If I killed myself it would kill my living child and I couldn’t do that.

I haven’t mentioned the beautiful son I’m lucky enough to have. He reminds me of happiness, and at the same time I regret what I did more and more when I look at him. I’d give anything for another child like him. I Never felt that way till now. I was so complete with just him. And maybe it’s just a mourning thing or a post abortive syndrome thing, but I wish I could stop thinking it. The reality is I didn’t want more kids. I sort of still don’t. But I ache for the one I killed.

Today I was reminded that he is why I’m here and improving his life and making him happy is my mission in this world. I’m truly grateful for him and these moments today that brought it into perspective.

Ever changing.

The pain morphs.

Lately it’s been hitting me like lightning during my happiest times. Striking down quickly and harshly as if to remind me that I’m not allowed happiness. I murdered my child before it ever had a chance.  Child murderers aren’t supposed to ever experience bliss or happiness again.

I have had good moments since I did it. Many.  They don’t last as long as they did before. They don’t fill me in the way that happiness and laughter use to fill every inch of my self.

I cry a lot still and I wonder if it will ever stop. I sob my eyes out with my big, very dark sunglasses on when I am driving sometimes if a song hits me the wrong way from the radio. I cry in the shower quite regularly. I cry when I start to talk about it with my baby’s father.  Sometimes I have to lock myself in the bathroom at work to cry, and tell my coworkers I have food poisoning so they will leave me alone. If they ask why my eyes are red I lie and tell them I vomited.

Crying should be cleansing. But it never relieves my pain the way it has in the past. You know that feeling after a really good body gripping cry, one that has been building up for a while? I feel worse after a fit of crying. My wheels have spun and the emotions have surfaced and nothing has been resolved and I feel the black hole of despair has widened within me.

Abortion is the only acceptable (I use that word very loosely) form of human murder in our society.

I feel like I should be locked up with the key thrown away for what I did. I should be removed from the luxuries of my life. Soft beds, chocolate, wine and books should be taken from me as punishment.  My sentence may actually be life. My life is gone now.  My friends all ask where I am or why I haven’t been around. Why didn’t I show up to the barbecue? Can’t I meet for happy hour?  One friend made a huge deal of how I have been ignoring her. How do I tell her what is going on in my life and that I may never recover? Happiness now is relative and so very short lived and I don’t know that I believe that I will find it again.

This whole experience has changed the way I look at other women. All other women. I read the rates, I know there are thousands upon thousands of women who have aborted their babies as I did.  I find myself sitting and staring at a random stranger wondering if she has ever had to deal with the same situation.

Did she welcome the loss?

Did it leave a crater in her soul as it has mine?

Did she tell anyone? And if she did, did they judge her or love her through it?

Was she lucky and had a miscarriage before she had to give the go ahead for a stranger to rip her child from her uterus?

I wonder. They have to be all around me. Rich or poor. Women are aborting.

I found this wonderful post on  a blog I frequent, about abortion recovery. It helps knowing some of  this is normal, but what it doesn’t tell me is if I will ever return to normal or forgive myself.

http://www.bandbacktogether.com/abortion-recovery-resources

I already hate this blog.

If I’d made one different choice months ago I would be about to give birth to my baby instead of pouring my broken heart and bleeding soul out to strangers on the Internet.

When you have an abortion, you certainly don’t talk about it with friends and family.  You barely make eye contact with the other women in the clinic that day. You don’t speak of it to anyone. It’s the most shameful secret a woman can carry.

I can’t talk about this to anyone in my world. So here I am. It has been 6 months and the empty, throbbingly painful numb I feel has completely engulfed me. I am usually a talker. So not being able to speak of this to anyone has only made my black hole grow.  It screams at me. It whips at me mid-happy sentence. It swallows me hole at the edge of the ocean on vacation. It creeps up just as I fall asleep.  It tortures me constantly, invading every single moment of my life. And rightfully so. I can never take back what I did in that moment that is now just a tiny blip in time.

Actually, I can speak about this to my baby’s father who I am still dating, and who is wonderful but he requires his own post at a later date.  And as amazing as he is, he’s not my girlfriends who soothe and heal me on all matters (that I can admit to).

Make no mistake, I’m not looking for pity here. I’m a grown woman who made a choice. A choice that seemed necessary and, oddly, right at the time.