Wednesday, 1 February 2012

Bug, Part One and a lot of other rambles

A Chicken Burger from Burger King.
No lettuce, just mayo.

I knew as soon as I had that craving, as soon as he left to go grab food, that something was up. And then I started trying to count back to find out when my last period had been. I've always fucking sucked at keeping track of that shit, but I always use condoms so it normally wouldn't have been a concern. Except for that one time, in a moment of ... passion? Whatever, stupidity, in the hallway before we could make it into my apartment. Apparently whatever karmic substance likes to fuck with me, decided I would get knocked up that night. I take full responsibility for that night, and for giving in. Shit happens. Whoops a babies happen.

Rockstar was a man who helped me heal from what D had shattered me into. I never had any disillusions that Rockstar and I would end up happily ever after. I wasn't looking for another relationship anymore than he wanted to date me. We had fun, and fun was all it was meant to be. Me getting knocked up threw everything into a fiery burning mess. He turned cold and cruel. I rose to my stubborn bitchy self and refused to back down when he pressured me to get an abortion. I gave him every out possible, told him that he could walk and I would never look for him again.

I meant it. I wasn't overly thrilled I had gotten knocked up, but, I've wanted to be a mom since I can remember. I'm a good fake mom, and I had and still have a job where I could support myself and the babe. I wasn't some teenager who had no education, however stupid my choices had been over the past year (then).

I remember telling Rockstar about Bug at work, in the stairs of my work, because he called during the Christmas party.

Today and this week, all I can think of are the friends who surrounded me with love, but also doubt and negativity. I'm finding the desperate amount of sadness is overwhelming me, and because of who I am and my character, it's pissing me off that I'm this sad. That I haven't been able to move on from it. I mean, fuck, it's been almost exactly a year. I've had two other miscarriages before Bug, and I can accept that maybe I wasn't supposed to have a kid just yet. So I need to buck up, and stop looking so fucking miserable.

Everyone's noticed, by now. It's annoying, because I'm such a private person that more than half of my Facebook friends, and friends outside of this place, don't know I've ever been knocked up, let alone suffered a miscarriage at 11 and a half weeks. So people are asking why I'm different, what's wrong, and they want to help. No one can help right now. I'm having those conversations again with myself, I'm containing the sad as best I can, I'm letting it out when I can and I'm surviving. You ask me how I am today? I say I'm surviving. It's not an invitation to as me what is wrong, or why just surviving, or to make some asshole comment about how I'd survive better if I was on top of you.

My entire body aches. My heart hasn't stopped hurting, and this week it feels like it's exploding. I have hatred towards my best friend, whom I live with, because she's going through a rough patch with her happy family and made the mistake of telling me a couple days ago that I was lucky I didn't have kids, that I'd be a moron to ever get knocked up by someone. I get that she's going through things and I know it's stressing her out, but I nearly clocked her. She saw the look in my eyes and kind of walked off.

Never fucking tell me that I'm lucky, or better off, or that kids are a mistake. I will gut you. I don't care what sort of shit you're going through, I don't fucking care that life gets stressful sometimes or that money is tight. You get to hold a precious fucking life, in your hands, and they are yours. No one, unless you treat them like absolute shit and CPS comes to take them, can take that away from you.

Ask any mother who's lost a baby. Any of them. We will all fucking cut a bitch for saying their children were mistakes.

It makes me scream, on a daily basis. I know how tiring and frustrating they can be. I've lived with my best friend since before the new baby was here, and when my niece was just a baby, they lived with me and my parents for six months. I took night shifts where I woke up with Ella, I would wake up in the mornings and take her so my friend could have some time to breathe. We shared the duties, far beyond me just watching the kid for a couple hours. I'm not as close to the new baby or my other best friends kids, but for my niece? I'd kill for her. I'd throw my body infront of something to save her, no questions asked. I'd probably do it for the others, but I'd probably try to find a way to save both of us, y'know. For Ella? No hesitation.

This week, I'm testy. I know this, and I'm trying to limit the exposure of it, but I hit a point during the day where I don't fucking care.

I bought a onesie this time. I had names. I had a plan, and I expected this shit to stick and for me to have an almost five month old in my arms, not to be alone. It hurt, but it also hurt my whole family. They all knew this time, so they all knew when I miscarried.

Fun fact: When I get really stressed, I normally go and get tattooed. I've known for a few months what I want, responsibility and lack of being awake during the regular human hours has made me hesitate. I'm sensing that responsibility shit cracking, though. Who knows, I might do it and upload pics.

Updated before I even posted it in the first place: Thursday, 630pm. Bitch is getting a tattoo.

I've been strangely calm and better, knowing this.

Month end was a whore, as per usual and the other hotel that has the same name as me in my city had no power, so I got a shit ton more work to do because of it. C'est la vie.


Jaclyn said...

I've had so many people say stupid shit to me. I can't tell you how many times I heard "it wasn't meant to be" or "there must have been something wrong with him". To which I always respond "well, his genetic tests and autopsy were completely normal, so actually I lost a perfectly healthy baby for no reason". Jeez people. Just say you are fucking sorry. With your best friend especially, I think you need to say something. She has to know she crossed a line, and being your best friend, I'm assuming she knows about your losses. I think you are afraid to show vulnerability sometimes but if ever there was a time to say "that really hurt me" it is NOW. You come off with this air of invicibility and you have to be willing to let that go around the people you trust the most. I'm sure she knows she shouldn't have said it, but she also knows that you are the type of person to tell her if something pisses you off. Maybe she doesn't realize you are not the type of person to tell her if something makes you so sad you want to curl into a ball and cry for a day. My point is that she is your best friend for a reason. She cares about you, but also she trusts you and knows she can vent to you. Sometimes we are so wrapped up in our own stuff that we don't think before we vent.

I think the tattoo is making you feel better because it's a way to put your feelings into something that you can see and touch. It's a tribute to your babies. And right now you need to channel your shit somewhere. So tattoo away. It's what Mexican prison gangs would want.

L-Kat said...

:( Life sucks sometimes and people speak without thinking. I know I've carried around massive secrets just because I didn't want to hear what everyone would say. I'm excited for you about the tattoo! Please post pictures. :)