Wednesday, April 24, 2013

My  therapist wants to do EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing) Therapy with me as soon as she gets office space.

I'm nervous about it. She said something today that I hadn't realized.
The trauma of Carlie's actual birth...I only let myself travel so far, and then my mind blacks out and I can't venture any further. I may experience it in flashes, but nothing is completely tacked together. I have to jump to certain points of the labor and delivery. Going through it from start to finish is nearly impossible, to truly feel all the emotions that come with it.

She validated once again: you are not crazy. You experienced a traumatic event.

I am diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder, Anxiety Disorder, and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

But I am not crazy.

So many people don't understand me right now. I don't understand myself, either, so welcome to the club.

I have to navigate through this foreign territory just like you do.

Monday, April 8, 2013

I'm either numb or I feel too much that it overwhelms and cripples me.
I don't know how to find balance.

I crave it, though.

Wednesday, April 3, 2013

Question marks.

If I could just be good enough, would You take this all away?

Sometimes I beg with everything in me that all of this is a horrible nightmare, and that I will wake up from it any. moment.

I wait. I breathe. I hear my pulse in my ears, the rhythm of anticipation aching my senses. I might even close my eyes, metaphorically clicking my heels and wishing to go home. Wherever home is, it has to be better than this damned place.

If I were better polished on the outside; no, if I were better polished on the inside, would I have been good enough to keep her here on earth?

Would I actually make a lousy mother? Am I delusional enough to believe otherwise? Is that why she didn't stay?

Was her death a result of my sin, like David and Bathsheba? [If so, then fuck you,God.]  
Did I not repent enough for things that were hidden? Even though I was closer toYou around the time that we found out her gender, closer than I'd been before... was it too late? Had you already fixated your wrath for the sins I'd already committed?

Did I not take care enough? Did I overlook so many signs that something was wrong?

Is my body broken? Am I never intended to have children, and You were just throwing me a proverbial bone so that I could at least say "I'm a mother?"
But I'm not a mother. I have not mothered. And I feel cheated out of this.

And sometimes I hate You.
I hate myself more.
People say I'm strong, but I'm nothing but a flimsy weakling.

Tuesday, March 19, 2013

All forward motion counts.

In the past thirty days, I've...

asked God to cuddle me instead of running to comfort in another person.
gotten up early on the weekend.
put on makeup more than once.
painted a picture.
almost read a full book.
thought of Carlie and smiled.
committed to doing cardio 3x a week.
cut back on cigarettes (for the most part)
gotten outside when I could've easily stayed in

Monday, March 18, 2013

>Ed Sheeran's A Team.
>The beginning stages of transitioning my thoughts to action.
>Learning day to day organization.
>One sentence prayers.
>Nicotine buzzes.
>Refresh and Renew [White Barn] Candle.
>Painting without a plan.
>Learning to silence the inner voice of self-criticism.
>I have some amazing people in my life.

Counting my blessings.

In an effort to continue forward motion, I'm going to list blessings at random times, whenever I think about it.

They'll be tagged under "blessings."

Sometimes it's the little things that count the most.

Here I am.

Sometimes it feels like I skipped ahead over random parts.
I don't remember when the first time came that I could get through a day without crying.

I do remember the first time I thought I was okay, only to be slapped with a single trigger that brought the house of cards down again. 

I also remember the first time I accepted that I will never be completely okay. [So recent] And how freeing that was.
People don't like to tell you that, though. But sometimes I wish people would be honest instead of trying to comfort you with empty words.

I wanted someone to say to me

"This will be hell. This could possibly be the worst hurt you've ever experienced. There will be days when you want to end your life. There will be times when it feels like life is moving in fast-forward around you, while you stay cemented to the same spot you were in three weeks ago. You will hate yourself. You will blame everything that went wrong on your own failing body. Sometimes you will feel that you are literally going crazy, plunging off the deep end into an ebony, bottomless abyss. You will find it hard to congratulate people who are pregnant or have just given birth. Then you will hate yourself again, for ever stumbling over the emotion of being happy for new life being born...because that life is not your daughter's. So it will be bittersweet, and sometimes you will taste the bitter more than the sweet. You will retreat within yourself, because you can't stand the stares of people or the silence on the phone that says that they simply don't know what to say to make things better. You won't want people to make things better.  You just want people to understand you. But who can understand something they haven't experienced firsthand?"

Instead, most people told me things would get better.  That I would get stronger. That God would be my comfort.

What comfort can God bring me, when I'm in the midst of hurt that He could've stopped if He'd elected to?
You want to know what I think?
I think that God allowed me the time to be angry with Him. And still be angry with Him, at times. And question Him. And have a faith crisis. And continue to mull through this. It doesn't surprise Him. He understands. And there are times when I still struggle with hatred for prayer, because it didn't save Carlie. This is a raw dance of grief, with spins of doubt, pirouettes of fiery anger, and jaded, cynical scissor-kicks.

In order for my relationship with God to be truly real, I have to be honest. This facade of Sunday smiles cannot happen anymore. I used to fake it until I made it. Though I was open about my feelings, I didn't offer them up in a spread of painful truth. I smiled, nodded, and pretended to be okay.

I'm closing the curtain on my people-pleasing show.
I just hope you still want to stick around.