Single After Miscarriage (The M Word, Part VI)

Miscarriage.  Such a terrible word.  Three months later, and I still have a hard time with the reality that it happened to me.

Pregnancy loss is one of the hardest things a woman will ever have to experience, particularly if the baby was wanted.  I never knew how much I wanted to have a child until I lost mine.  It still aches in deep places when I think about what happened.  It’s a profound sadness that will never go away.  It may lessen over time, but it will always be with me.

What is hitting me particularly hard lately is that my baby dreams are on hold.  I am envious of couples who have grieved together, and that envy runs especially deep knowing that can try for another one when they are ready.  I have read stories of women who got pregnant as little as a few weeks after their loss, and carried a healthy baby to term.  I do understand that I am generalizing here, as many couples struggle with fertility and multiple miscarriages.  There are also couples who simply don’t know when will be ready to try again.

Part of my jealousy stems from not having a partner to plan another child with.  I don’t have a future baby daddy in my life.  The father of my lost baby grieved on his own.  It kills me to think that we conceived a child and yet grieved separately.  It also stings deeply knowing that I have no idea when I will ever have the opportunity to plan for a child with someone I love.  I don’t have that to look forward to.   Not only am I dealing with the horrific pain of losing a baby alone, but I can’t even look forward to trying again.

I lost everything.  I am rebuilding my life right now, brick by brick, and it feels like an eternity before I will ever see a positive pregnancy test again.  Don’t get me wrong, I don’t just want the baby.  I want it all.  I want someone to come home to.  I want a home of my own.  I want a career.  I’m slowly putting the pieces of my life back together, but it’s a long, difficult process.  I’m searching for the light at the end of the tunnel, but right now all I can do is run my hands along the wall and blindly feel my way there.

I no longer have hCG running through my veins, but some days it’s hard to believe that.  I still feel like it’s there when I see babies, especially one that may have looked like mine.  I feel like it’s there when I see pregnant women.  I feel like it’s there when I pass the baby section in a department store.  The strong, driving urge to nest and procreate feels as though it remains at the same level it did when I was still pregnant.  Will this ever dissipate?  Will I forever see young families and feel myself burning with envy inside?

And by god, when will I stop picturing T when I think of a future family?  Somedays I wish I could wipe him out of my brain.  Well, that’s not true.  Rather, I wish I could wipe the idea of him as part of my life out of my brain.  No matter how many times I tell myself he doesn’t want you, you need to move on, it’s like my brain is hardwired to reject those thoughts and keep him in that picture anyway.

I would like to think that I’m just being too hard on myself.  It’s only been a little over three months since the worst day of my life.  Things are slowly improving.  I finally found a job, which I start next week.  I had two men on two consecutive days give me their phone numbers, so I must be putting some kind of positive vibe into the universe.  Spring is here and the cherry blossoms are blooming, which always makes me feel like renewal is just around the corner.  Am I finally on the upswing, and this relentless pain of my blank, partner-less and baby-less future will begin to fade away?  Will this soon be nothing more than a far away memory that I look back on with respectful melancholia?

There is nothing sadder or more frustrating than a miscarriage.  I know that I am strong and will make it through these dark days.  I also know that I am only 31, and there is hope for me yet.  There is still time to find someone to build a life with.  Someone to have children with.  Someone to grow old with.

Sigh.

Miscarriage.

Such a terrible, terrible word.

Until next time ~ B

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Anger, Party of One

I am angry.

For the first time since the break up I am allowing myself to finally relish, marinate, soak up, and embrace the anger that I have kept at a minimum the past three weeks.

So, so angry.

I am angry that he said, “I love you,” and then took it back so soon.  I’m angry that he walked away from me when I needed him the most.  I’m angry that I put so much faith, love, trust, and support into a relationship that ended up being completely one-sided in the end.  I am angry that I believed the things that came out of his mouth.  When I questioned him tonight, on his use of the L word, he replied that he meant it when he said it at the time.

Angry as fuck.

So many questions.

So, you did love me?  You said you did, but how can I trust you?

When you told me in the movie theater that you wanted to make me happy for the rest of my life, did you mean that, too?

When you said you were worried about me, and I told you I wasn’t going to do anything crazy, you said, “good, because I need you,” did you mean that as well?

When you introduced me to N, was that just for show?

I don’t take the world “love” lightly.  That word means something to me.  Is love a word you think you can casually toss around, like a cheap pair of sunglasses that you can try to take care of, but when you drop them lens-first, and they scratch up and get bent on one side, so you just figure “Oh well, I’ll just get another pair.”  ???

I am beyond angry.

I’m angry that I worked so hard to take down my brick wall, only to get piled underneath the very masonry I worked so diligently to deconstruct.

I’m angry that I don’t hate him.  I want to.  I even told him that I hated him tonight, and of course instantly regretted the words that came out of my mouth, words that were covered in a toxic sludge of emotions that I could no longer control.

I am angry that I love him.  Even after all his fuckery, I still love him.  Even after his inability to dig himself out of the chicken shit grave in which he has allowed himself to be buried, I still burn for him.

I’m angry that his excuse for reaching out was to make sure I’m okay.  Fuck you.  You are the one who isn’t okay, and you reached out because you missed me and you know this is all a bullshit parade, and you have appointed yourself as grand marshal.  

“I’m scared.”

“I don’t know what I want.”

“I’m lost.”

Hey, guess what?  Welcome to adulthood, asshole.  We are all scared, indecisive, and lost at times.  But you know what?  Grown-ass folks pull their heads out of their asses and deal with their shit in productive ways.

I’m so angry.

I’m angry that I stood on the edge of this sinking ship, throwing life preservers at him in vain, telling him “just grab onto one, I will pull you in.  I’m here to pull you in.”  And he just stared at me, wearing his emotional mask, pushing the preservers away, and continuing to drown in his sad, lonely ocean of one.  What I finally see now is the anchor he has tied around his own ankle, an anchor that will pull him down if he doesn’t learn to let it go.

I am angry that he never leaned on me.  I saw him get emotional once, and that was because vodka unleashed emotions that he kept buried under a thin surface.

Is that what it takes to get you to process your emotions?  Do I need to tempt you with alcohol in order to get you to feel?  To be honest?  To let me see what is going on inside your heart?  Goddammit.   I saw the mask on your face tonight.  Even in the dark of night, with only the distant house lights upon us, I could see your mask on.  I saw your game face.  I could hear it in your voice.  Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.

I am angry that I couldn’t even be the one to delete him off social networking.  He beat me to it.  He took that last shred of dignity away from me.

And you know what?

I’m so fucking angry that he will use this experience to justify his behavior.  This is why I tried so hard not to get angry, because I knew that emotion would fuel his “Lonely Island, Party of One” attitude.   “I’m an asshole, I’m selfish, I do nothing but hurt people.”  Good fucking grief.  Congratulations, you emotional fuckwit.  You have completed yet another custom-made self-fulfilling prophecy.  Keep this up, and it’s going to be your lonely ass yelling at the pigeons in the park, not mine.  

Remember, you are just an ordinary guy with everything to lose.  Maybe you should rephrase it as “I am just an ordinary guy with everything to lose, and when it happens, I have no one to blame but myself.  I pushed the life-preserver away.” 

And lastly, I am so angry because anger is not a primary emotion.  Anger is a defense mechanism that covers up the core emotions that we don’t really want to feel- namely hurt and fear.  I am so hurt.  There is an ache in my chest that I cannot soothe.  I am so hurt because I have been made to feel as if I am worthless.  As if I am an object to be easily discarded.   Like the sunglasses, I fell, got scratched up, a little bruised, and now I’m no longer worthy.  He told me last weekend that I’m “great.”  I went from being the woman he claimed to love, to being great.

Blonde hair, a pretty face, a nice pair of tits- that’s a dime a dozen, right?  Well, shit got hard with this one, better toss it aside.  Nah, man, it’s alright, another will come along…

I don’t know if he will ever regret his actions.  He could very well come out of this and meet a new blonde who magically has everything he is looking for, and they can snowboard off into the wilderness together, happily ever after.  Or, maybe he will regret this someday, and realize that I’m not great.  I’m something pretty fucking amazing, and he let me walk away.  He told me to walk away.

I am angry that as we stood by my car tonight, tears on my face, I had to make him tell me “I don’t want to be with you.”   He kissed me on the forehead, said he was sorry, and left me there, in the cold, alone.

He doesn’t want me.  He told me to walk away.

I am angry that after everything, there is only one thing that I can really say.

As you wish. 

Someday.

Someday…

…Other people’s pregnancy announcements will no longer sting.

…I will be able to see a pregnant woman and not feel jealous.

…I will be able to look at babies and not feel an ache in my chest. 

…Passing by the baby section at any store will not make me feel bitter.

…I will feel peace again. 

…I will meet someone new.

…That person will actually, legitimately, genuinely fall in love with me. 

…That person will ask me to marry him. 

…That person and I will get married.

…I will be pregnant again.

…I will hold a baby in my arms.  

…I will have a family.

Someday.

 

How to Lose Friends and Alienate People

Subtitled:  What not to say to someone during a time of grief.

During this separation, I have been adamant that no one speak ill of my ex-boyfriend.  I have not maligned him, nor do I expect or want anyone else to, either.  Luckily, I have a wonderful support network that understands the complexities of this split and everyone understands that there is no “bad guy” or “villain” in this situation.  The few close friends and family I have confided to in the past two weeks just wants the best for both of us.  I have been reminded that I am surrounded by some pretty great people.

Unfortunately, two people have not been as kind and understanding, and I have since cut off contact with them.  There are things you just shouldn’t say to a woman during pregnancy loss, especially if that woman has also experienced a break up.  Last night, a friend was checking in on me.  He asked how I was doing, and I told him that things were hard with the recent losses, but I was doing my best.  He responded, “What do you mean loss, what happened?”  Puzzled, I replied, “Well, the miscarriage and the breakup.  It’s just been a lot to experience in a short period of time.”

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