I do not hate you because I am incapable of understanding you. It is not your fault... it is my own. Do not hate me for my faults and I will not hate you for your faults.
These are two simple, yet loaded statements of how my feelings pull me from side to side, sometimes up or down and cross ways. I have hired two people to help keep my mind occupied and running smoothly, as 'normal' as possible. They are Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. They mean well, but somethings their odd behaviour and confusing tactics creates more chaos then needed. In the end, job is done and onto the next... off the go, arguing about a new topic, possible teatime...
I left work early last Tuesday, and did not go in today. I do not feel well, physically, but I think a lot of it is due to my emotional state right now. My mind is my worst enemy and it is confusing the rest of my body. I have stopped eating, not completely but pretty much. I just don't care. I have stopped sleeping, maybe 3-4 hours per night. I lie awake at night and listen to the many arguments my bipolar conscience has with itself. I try to mediate the two, but I am left unheard.
So I go into work on Monday, tired, barely functioning due to lack of sleep and poor nutrition. Self sabotage. Not even 5 minutes into the work day, an overheard conversation amongst co-workers triggers my rambling mind to detach itself from my inner chaos and retaliate outwards. A comment is said after my requests for a different public conversational topic that left me feeling heated. I walked away... I had to bring something to the HR department anyways, and thought that was a good time to do it.
Although I may feel clinically insane right now; that is one thing I am not. What I feel is very logical; I wouldn't have a soul if I didn't feel like this. A person who loses, or is losing a child that feels nothing; is just that; they are nothing themselves. I am not nothing; I am a lot of things. I am love, I am compassion, I am fear, I am God's child whom He has given a soul to.
Although I must maintain a professional demeanor at work, I do not feel sorry, nor do I apologize for my actions on Monday. They were warranted and very subtle. Hardly anyone even noticed. I would expect others to understand. If they don't, I do not hate you for not understanding... How can you? You never have had to endure what I am living every second of my life. I do not hate you for being insensitive. How can you measure sensitivity on a scale you have never stepped foot on? If you were to be pinched in the arm and asked to rate the pain on a scale of 1-10, you might rate it a 3 whereas someone else would rate it a 9. Everyone is different. We are snowflakes; no two are the exact same. I only ask of others, friends, family, co-workers, even strangers, that if you do not understand, please do not judge me. Do not hate me because you cannot understand. I do not hate you for not understanding. Please do not assume that the type of person you are seeing right now is the real person that I am; right now I am a mirage... even unto myself...
So on Tuesday, I left work and went to the doctor's office here in St. Cloud. I was crying and screaming the whole way as I drove; I could barely see the road. I was in so much pain, I so badly wanted to go down the highway, press as hard as I could on the gas pedal, close my eyes and let go...
My soul stepped in. It reminded me of my family, my son, and all the other lives that would be effected. Again, I am not clinically insane, nor depressed; just confused...
I think I scared the nurse when I got to the clinic. She was very short and wouldn't look my in the eyes. Of course, understandable; she does not know the situation with my pregnancy. The doctor didn't even know when she walked in. I had to go through the whole story with her. I guess that is what happens when you transfer all prenatal care to a different clinic. I told her I would be better, just a little, if all I could do was sleep. Sleep. Without it, your mind fails and drives your body blindly into life.
She was hesitant. She left the exam room for a few minutes. When she came back, she told me she got off the phone with a different doctor in the Centracare system that I have seen in the past; she was reassured by this doctor that I am not crazy. That actually I am very in touch with my emotions and are handling them better than others have had done in the past. It felt good to hear that. It wasn't only reassurance to her, but myself. I needed some form of justification; that was it. She prescribed me 5 Ambien pills with one exception: I had to promise I wouldn't take them all at once. I laughed; then I saw how serious she was. I promised, of course. She said she believed me, she could see in my eyes, and through my tears that I do want to live. If I am so distraught over losing the life of a child I will never get to know; why would I take my own life and miss out on the life and getting to know the son I already have? I wouldn't. Simple as that.
Tuesday night I took one Ambien. I slept, but woke up feeling worse. I had another doctor's appointment to go to again; a follow up visit from Tuesday. The appointment lasted an hour, and my nose bled the whole time. It wouldn't stop. I am not sure if my nosebleed was a result from me crying so bad, the cold I am trying to get over paired with me violently blowing my nose into a tissue, or an adverse effect from the Ambien. I hate drugs. If it isn't natural, more than likely I do not want it in my body.
Then today I received a phone call from the neurosurgeon's office; asking me to reschedule... yet again. My first thought was pure annoyance, but then I quickly corrected my thoughts and called myself selfish. Why would a children's neurosurgeon need to reschedule? The only reason is obvious. A little boy has a brain tumor and needs to have surgery right away. I felt sad for the little boy, then sad for his mother and other family members. I rescheduled the appointment for the same day, just an earlier time. We have to be there at 7:45 A.M. Wow, Paighton is going to be one cranky little boy having to get up that early in the morning to go to daycare. I feel sorry for his daycare friends. Grumpy little man...
To answer the many questions I have received about why I haven't posted on my blog for a week, is simple. The past two days have been the answer. My mind was fighting with my heart; fighting for control over my body. That control would include my hands, my fingers... my ability to type. I was afraid of what I might have posted had my mind been given complete control over my hands. I need to think, and speak from my heart. I need to act from the heart. Had my mind posted a blog, it would have offended many people. People I am not out to offend, nor attack. They have nothing to do with my situation. People I like, I respect, and care for regardless of any regards.
Pregnancy is like a roller coaster. It has its ups and downs. You will enjoy it, but you also throw your hands up and scream for your mother; hoping she will come save you. You get to the highest point, and is it creeps to a slow stop that doesn't completely stop, you can see down how far you are going to fall. You white knuckle grip the handlebars for support. You start to have regrets of ever getting on the roller coaster to begin with. Like all roller coasters, they have an end. It comes to the end and you are left with a sick, yet satisfied feeling. "That's odd", you think to yourself. You want to do it again, and again, and again... Even though you know what to expect, all roller coasters are different. The highs and lows might be higher or lower than the last, and the turns will jerk you in a direction you weren't ready for. Yet you get on another one... again... and again... and again...
I have heard of parents of triplody babies getting on that roller coaster again, and some haven't. I wonder which I will be...
I hope work goes well tomorrow. I miss people again...
This picture was taken awhile ago, before my little man got his first haircut. I thought of it as I was writing this post. I stared at it for awhile, trying to contain my laugh from waking the sleeping angel in his room. It kind of puts a view on what I was talking about regarding rollercoasters. He was being pushed by Daddy in an empty diaper box. At times he wanted to get out, but if he stopped, he would get upset and ask for more. He reminds me of the Sour Cabbage Patch Kids gummy candies. At first they are sour, then the are sweet...
Good night my sweet gremlin...
