last spring

last spring i journeyed to italy and switzerland. this one i journeyed to hell and back. or so it seems. that should be the opening line to my novella, notes from the end of my rope. in reality i’m just tired, but today is a better day. better than yesterday.i can actually think about things in the future easier. things seem to be more inviting mentally (sewing, my handbag business idea).

snowy saturday

we’re buried in the snow today so it’s good to be indoors. I am only happy, really happy, in the morning when the dog comes up with us on the bed, and it’s all my love on a queen sized bed, curled up like teaspoons. the zoloft makes me sleepy or maybe it’s that i am not sleeping well – i wake at 4am and i can only think of the loss and my body’s betrayal of me. work sometimes gets in there, but not very much.

the long climb out

So, I gave them up the 38 little pills. it was either that or take the damn things, and as attractive as that was it scared me. in my head, over and over, it was ‘do it’ , ‘do it’ do it do it do it do it just DO IT already. But i did not. I gave them to george, and he promptly freaked, (understandably) called my parents who showed up on our doorstep 3 hours later.
now? five or six days later whatever it is, we have been to therapy, i have been prescribed Zoloft, and i’m miserable. i had to sign an agreement that i would not harm myself (which was quite difficult). of course, this entire process will cost $900 a month for a while. which really makes me happy, of course, to see that my failure to remain together has caused me yet more pain. i know it’s for the best, that I need to get out of here, but i could have taken a vacation to key west for the amount of money i’m spending. not that key west would have made me less miserable about my grandmothers being dead or my only chance at pregnancy being gone. okay, so maybe it was good i did this.

i bought the zoloft. hundred bucks a month. and a maybelline eye compact. both serving the same purpose, really. little blue pills. little blue and green and brown and lilac squares.

it goes on

okay so i said it would end. or maybe i hoped it would end. but i am still here. grandma’s photos on my board in front of me. she said never do it, they’d ruin your life, kids. she is up there arguing with the rest of the family. that’s why this is happening. so where do i go from here? i haven’t found a therapist yet. i will freak my parents out with this, so when they call i will not say anything. i have to find another path, another road, another life.
when i try to think of things that matter, the usual – g, the dog, mom & dad, my family, my friends, my partners. if ithink of them well it’s gold, but if i let the other in it’s pinkish white.
i can’t stop thinking about the embryo, that pink little sac, the purple placenta, perfect in it’s squiggly edge and tiny cord.

it goes on

start at the third one down. today i stay home early. i go in for client meeting. so do you have grandchildren and there it is, on the table ‘oh we’re both going to be grandmothers’. i am sure my face is blanched but thank god i get up. i have made a terrible mistake, waiting this long, i have made a terrible mistake. i should have never started this process. i have made a terrible mistake, and this grief will kill me, it will crush me, and there is nothing i can do it’s just a matter of time. it will be a moment of weakness, when the 1% that is selfish overrides the 99% that thinks of my funeral, hundreds of people. i sat in that moment, we argued, and i sat in that moment. i know there are 38 pills, and i had alcohol. i held them in my hand, and i opened the top. just like vitamins.
but you know i don’t do it, i am writing this blog. i don’t know how to be strong every day it gets darker and darker here. i don’t sleep, dreams are creepy. and i know that god might ask me, is now the time for you? and i don’t know what i will say. yes it’s time, i’m tired, i can’t fight on. no it’s not there’s spring and summer, and dogs in the park, sunset on the lake, and another road to find. that is what i need a better map, another road. i can’t do big groups. every day i put on a face, but it wears me out. i don’t drink enough to numb the pain [new years is fresh]. when i get up just before i remember my life it’s a perfect moment, fresh, then i remember.

it goes on

this takes more than one single post. i jump up from the floor, gulp my wine and compose myself in the bathroom thinking how fast can i get out of here. i jump into my car [pink and blue ribbon freshly on the back liftgate] and i barely pull away when i am gasping for air. seventeen weeks. seventeen weeks, seventeen weeks. seventeen fucking weeks. it’s crushing. i get to MLK and it’s five blocks to the bridge. five blocks, can i do it? turn the wheel, middle lane, hit it fast. four blocks, it will be over soon, three blocks. seventeen weeks, gasping for air, two blocks washington ave, my office, which shakes me out of it a bit, how can i leave i haven’t seen the tree bloom or painted my office yet. the bridge. middle lane. i keep going and when i pass the rally’s (or whatever generafastfood it is) i think, i did it. a victory. the drive is long and fast at the same time, i am gasping for air, i can hardly breathe the whole way home. i imagine swallowing the [now i know] 38 pills, it would be so easy i am saying it out loud now, it would be so easy. so easy. i am not thinking of anyone else. it would be so easy.
if it were just this loss, but it is not it is every loss and it is crushing, the weight of it makes my heart ache, in real, not just emotionally. it hurts to breathe most of today. we talked last night, adoption is out. clomid? ugh. genetic testing, ivf. G, he doesn’t get it at all, he says things like ‘if i were a therapist, i’d say ‘get over it’ and swipes his hand in a brushing, cast off gesture. i dont’ know if he means me or not, but tonight when we argue, that’s what he says.

busy week

there are 38 pills. barbituates (i think) and hydrocodone (which I think is percocet). together with alcohol it’s enough. i hid them in a new spot.

tuesday I started spotting. at 3dpo. really that’s not good. so wednesday I over hear biz partner exclaiming “that’s great you heard the heartbeat” not like I was eavesdropping, I was in the the conference loft upstairs. i can only imagine what both of them must think. grandmothers, exuberant, and tiptoeing around me like walking on eggshells. yesterday. support group. actually pretty good. then knitting circle. why did i go? one of my friends tracks her pregnancy with mine. she’s asked ‘how far along’ and says ’seventeen weeks’. it’s loud in my head and so i think knit knit knit knit, turn the work, knit knit knit, pet the cat, do not look at the belly, knit knit knit knit knit knit knit. i have to say this in my head b/c it drowns out the sound. and then i’m asked ’so were you upset you didn’t get a [bfp] in december?’ i almost run screaming from the room but i can’t speak, can’t move, i just look down and say in a whisper yes. oh i can’t fault my friends asking them to understand is like asking me to grasp what it’s like to lose your whole family in a tsunami or something. it’s incomprehensible. G is not understanding. he wishes i would snap out of it. this process, it will drain me of everthing that is good, happy and wonderful about me. i will be bitter, jealous, angry and mean.

it’s that damn hill again

and I’ve gone and fallen down it again. No fault of my own, just every freaking person is pregnant and they’re getting CLOSER to me, if they could just stay away, not be anyone I know or who knows anyone I know, that would be fine. My life is empty. or at least it feels that way, which is a ludicrous statement, i’m busier than anyone I know (just about). But it feels devoid of meaning. just plodding along, doing the job, not making any headway. like tacking upwind on a river with 4mph current. just watching the algae go faster than I am.

i might be whining, but since I”ve been ridiculously tired, alternating with insomnia, constant irritability, crying jags every day (today every ten minutes, thank god my desk faces the wall), i think all this is depression. when will it end/

climbing the ridge

I am climbing over the ridge now. What came back first, oddly, was my ability to remember things not written down. And for the first time, it hit me, as i walked down the stairs “i actually want to paint the office”. I felt, well, awake, for the first time in months. Work has helped immensely this week. Cheerful with clients, excited to call them.

Signed up for an online sewing class, free, I won one of the BYOC categories (can you believe it? me?) NYC details, my fave type of class. I’m moving on.

new year

well, survived it! Support buddy called today, we chatted for a while. I think the biggest fear is that I won’t ever be able to carry to term….and what is the second path without children? She suggested having the same path (take care of yourself, divest yourself of excess stuff, in both stress and obligations and in other areas) regardless.

So new year, here goes, thankful for:

George – who stayed with me this weekend (little does he know how close I came and I still have the pharmacopia stash)
Zuzu – who stuck close by the other day, interestingly enough
fuzzy slippers – okay simply because they’re luxurious
talent

it’s not so bad. I cleaned out the bedroom (always amazed at the quantity of stuff I have), and vowed to not wear the same outfit twice in a row this winter (it’s possible).