Except that my eyes are brown. But they used to be green, so work with me here.
I promised myself I wouldn't clutter up my blog with more of my depressed ranting, and I probably don't want this posted online, but I'm at my computer now, and it's been a long day. I need an outlet. This is really depressing. If you keep on reading, it's your own fault. This is my catharsis. Or at least an attempt toward that goal.
First things first. I went to sleep "early" last night (1 am) to prove to Terry that I am capable of sleeping more than 3 hours on a Saturday night. It's been over a month since I've slept more than that on a Saturday (several weeks I've stayed up til 6 am, to then wake by 7). Really, I've just been doing a lot of reading, and I like to finish my stories unless I'm just too tired. But Terry thinks that I'm just avoiding Sundays because it was while I was home alone resting while everyone was at church that I started bleeding with this last miscarriage. I suppose his theory makes sense, except that I don't like to think that everything I do has to do with my 10-year-long depression. OK, so I tried to make Terry happy and get more sleep, though he still pestered me about the sleep issue because I woke up early (at 6) and got up instead of staying in bed while not sleeping through the rainstorm this morning. At any rate, I slept. And getting enough sleep is so overrated. It just makes it take more to work off my nervous energy.
So I went to church, and I did better than usual. I made it through the first hour and a half before I couldn't stand to sit down anymore. So I got up and started my usual course of laps around the building. At least this building is circular, so I can keep moving without interruption. When I first started this escape 10 years ago, I had to take it outside, and ran laps around the building in the snow and ice. (OK, I've done the whole "take off my shoes and run until I'm too tired to think about it" escape for longer than that, but it was 10 years ago that it became a regular event. need to work on my endurance though for it to really help, cause I'm so out of shape, I can't run nearly long enough to run away from my thoughts). But the hallways are always crowded with parents keeping fussy babies out of classrooms, so walking the halls doesn't always help as much as I'd like it to, either. So I did maybe a dozen laps outside in the rain for variety.
I'm kind of surprised by the people I pass in the halls. I get lots of comments about the great exercise I'm getting as I walk around and around the building for over an hour (it does add up to probably 3 miles an hour, even walking at a stately "church" pace--I took a pedometer once, so as many as 6-8 miles over the course of the meetings). But noone seems to notice that about half the time my face is soaked and dripping with tears. I don't even try to keep up my Happy Face at those times, but nobody seems to notice. Not that I'd really accept any help or hugs or whatever, cause I'm just not touchy-feely when I'm depressed, but sometimes it might be nice to not feel so alone.
OK, I guess I'm getting to the green-eyed monster part of this post. I try not to think when I'm walking, but today I couldn't help it. This one seems to be my hardest to pull out of--except the very first--10 years ago, which was the blackest depression I've ever known, taking nearly a year to pull out of, during which time I couldn't even so much as sing along with the radio. Christmas songs still choke me up pretty bad. There are so many reasons why this one is so bad. For one, it was my 12th pregnancy, making a total of 9 losses--6 in a row. This was going to be my final try (though admittedly, I haven't done anything to stop, and I still hold out a small superstitious hope that I might have a lucky 13 sometime). I'm not even 30 years old yet--though I feel so much older, and I feel like my chances and hopes are shot. Most of my life since I was 18 has been centered around having and caring for babies, but mostly this crushing loss that keeps repeating over and over again, making me feel like a complete failure at the one thing that is mine to do (other than housework, and that totally doesn't count--I don't mind failing at that). Another stinging blow with this loss is that I was given a blessing that stated outright that I would be able to carry this one to birth, and it was all a lie. It makes me angry.
But the worst part about it is that ever present green-eyed monster. It's not a new problem. Pretty much any child I see from 10 years old and down to the ones just showing up as a slight swelling in their mother's belly reminds me of some child or other that I would have had, since I have been pregant nearly constantly since 1998. And this is the year of babies in the Wach family. Within the course of this year, all 3 of Terry's brothers, his little sister, and a niece will all be welcoming new babies. I was excited to be part of that crowd, but now each new birth is another reminder of the one that I'm not having. Worse yet, every single one of those that is far enough along to know yet is expecting a boy. I love my girls with all my heart, and the thought of having a boy terrifies me still, but the fact is my first loss--and really the one I mourn the most each time, since I was 4 1/2 months along then--was a boy. And I've always felt guilty that I was so vocal about saying through that pregnancy that I always wanted a girl first. Now I just ask for a living baby, but that doesn't work out so well for me either. I don't begrudge a single one of them their babies, especially since I know that they've ALL had difficulties with pregnancies and losses of their own. I am so happy for each one of them, but I wish I could be joining them, too.
The funny thing is, you would think that seeing the babies would be the most difficult thing, but it's not. Well, seeing them is rough. But babies are wonderful therapy for me. I never feel so complete as when I have a baby in my arms. Even seeing one smile or wave at me sends a wave of healing to my heart. I wish that I knew some of the young mothers at church well enough to ask to hold their babies for a while. It would help so much. But I don't. And I can't bring myself to reach out for a baby and ask, for fear I'll come off as the raving lunatic that I am.
Also, I tend to project my own tendencies onto others, and I worry about asking a mother to share her baby with me, because I was very selfish with my own. By the time I had Marty, my "third time's the charm" baby, there was no way I was going to let anyone hold my baby for me. Terry had to practically beg to get me to let him hold her for a while. I finally gave in a little bit by the time Linda came around, but only because it's not so easy to hold and snuggle a 3 year old, 18 month old, and a baby all at the same time. Not that I didn't try. I'm a little bit more comfortable with asking to care for baby nieces and nephews, but then I have to join the line of other adoring family members that want to play with the babies. So most of the time I just end up with empty arms and just feel hollow. Even being the Lady with the Yarn doesn't help nearly as much as it used to, and all the frantic crochet work doesn't do much for me anymore.
Well there you have it, for anyone that bothered reading through all that--everything that's been on my mind today, and more than probably anybody wants to know. But I'm not looking for sympathy or anything--just wanted to get it out there. Now I need to pack lunches and sign permission slips and get to sleep before it's tomorrow. And hopefully things will seem brighter in the morning.
Brayland’s Japan Trip
1 year ago
