Wednesday, March 25, 2015
I wrote this last Wednesday, but didn't post it. I was so angry when I wrote it, and I don't like to post, or text, or write anything in anger. I'll write it out, but I'll just sit on it for awhile. I try not to act on negative emotion. I've learned it's wise not to act on something out of anger. Write it out, get it out of your system...but don't tell the world how you feel when you're enraged.
I've sat on it for a week, and I don't feel the need to edit anything out. It all still rings true.
But just be warned, it's not a pretty, "feel good" post. And there's some cussing, cause, well, it's me writing here.
I'm so angry. I've been walking around with this simmering anger, just sitting beneath the surface for a good week now. Some days, like this past weekend, I am busy with life and can mask it easily. Other days I have nothing but obnoxious chores and work on my agenda and I feel like a ticking time bomb, just waiting to explode on the first unsuspecting victim that says something slightly off color.
It drives me crazy.
I'm not normally an angry person. In fact, it usually takes a LOT to get me angry. Granted, once I'm angry I'm usually seething mad and it's difficult for me to calm down, but it takes a whole lot to make me mad. I don't fly off the handle easily. I think before I speak. I don't often say things out of anger that I later have to apologize for. I can manage multiple stressors relatively well. I am aware that the world and life are not fair, and I don't feel like I am entitled to or owed anything.
But lately that has not been the case. I've been angry more often than not.
Having this uncontrollable anger nipping at me from the inside out is a strange feeling. I'm on edge. There are times when it literally feels like something is chewing on me from under my skin. It's a constant low level irritation.
I'm pissed off that Reece died. I'm mad that my body went into preterm labor and threw him out into the world before he was ready. I'm angry that my daughter has to mourn her baby brother, and was robbed of the opportunity of being his big sister. I'm absolutely irate that my relationship ended because my counterpart couldn't take it. Couldn't handle another loss in his life, so he chose to check out, leaving me alone and pissed off. I'm so so mad about that. I'm pissed off that I had to move, twice in one year. I'm so fucking pissed. I'm angry that this grief thing never just ENDS. Like, seriously, enough already. ENOUGH. That there doesn't come a day where you've reached your full of grief. It's not a like a prison term, where you are counting down to a specific day when your nightmare is finally over.
No, friends. This type of grief is life without parole. Sometimes days are easier, and you relish those days. Drink them up like fresh lemonade in the summer! But then in the blink of an eye the bitter sourness returns, and you realize life handed you lemons.
I am so sick of it. I AM SICK OF IT.
And I'm angry.
I feel like I need to send a text to anyone who may come in contact with me throughout the day. Just a simple message: "Caution, I'm angry. Talk to me at your own risk."
The unfairness of this situation has been weighing on me. Just sitting there on my shoulders, constantly pushing me down. Why did I have to lose my baby and others get to keep theirs? Why did MY baby have to die? I did everything right, as instructed by my doctor. Why are there people out there who drink, or smoke, or do drugs, KNOWING that it hurts their child, yet their babies get to live?
ANSWER ME, because I'M FUCKING PISSED OFF AT THE UNFAIRNESS OF IT ALL.
I'm so mad.
And I know it sounds selfish, to ask why others get to keep their children, and I didn't. I know, I KNOW, that that's a dumb question to ask. Because of COURSE, we want everyone to have healthy babies. OF COURSE. I want nothing more than for no mother to ever ever have to feel this feeling ever again.
But on my angriest of days, it still doesn't make it easier that I was the one dealt this shitty hand of cards. I realize that everyone has their own struggles in life, but on my angriest of days, like this past week, none of that matters.
Because I am just so pissed off.
So I do anything I can to help relieve it. I go to the gym. I run. I lift weights. I crank the music up in my car LOUDLY. I drink red wine. I ponder going back on medication to even out my emotions. I cry and complain about it to my best friends. They are angry for me too.
And then I read this. This article, which had made the rounds on several of the babyloss pages that I follow on Facebook.
Grief and PSTD. Yeah, I'd say I have a healthy dose of both. Nothing like giving birth unexpectedly at home and then watching your child die in your hands to give you a nasty case of the PTSD.
The idea of the article is that these are crosses that we have to bear for life. The low level rumbling of anger is something that I just need to "learn how to live with." (Fuck that phrase, even if it's true, it can eff off.)
The author even says:
I frequently find myself in a state of irritation. I’m agitated, simmering on a low boil. I look forward to moments I feel content, moments I feel more like myself. I want to be that person more often. I long for that peace. But there is still anger in me that I cannot seem to tap. Things that wouldn’t normally irk me do. People that don’t normally annoy me are like nails on a chalkboard. It’s as if my subconscious is looking for ways to get out this anger, any way it can. How can I not always seethe at how unfair it is that my baby died?
It feels like she's reading directly from my brain. That's exactly how I feel, way too often.
There is a shred of solace in knowing that others feel the way I do. That others know how annoying and draining this process is. I take a tiny bit of comfort in know that there are others who relate.
And then a note on love, which I also find to be chillingly true.
The irony is that I have an appreciation for my life that many others don’t. I have such love for my family and friends that I could burst. I value each breath that I take and find overwhelming moments of joy in my life. But I’m still also sad. I’m still also angry.
I love so hard these days. I feel joy on such a greater level that I ever did before.
But I'm still so profoundly sad.
And I'm still ferociously angry.