Postpartum Analysis
I am not quite sure when it got out of control. I think I was happy each time I was pregnant. I enjoyed how everyone was so nice to me, gave me a little extra kind attention. People offered advice, held doors a little longer, gave up their seats for me. I was happy each time, I think. Except for the one I lost. The one I didn't want, the one that never even was. The one I wished away until it died. Did the drapes start to close after that?
We moved up and down the east coast trying to locate his happiness. His success. All at the expense of my own. I struggled through my suffering. He closed his eyes. He was too consumed with his own inner demons to care about mine. My first born suffered through my new mom anxieties. I wanted everything perfect, everyone happy, enriched. No fits for my perfect angel, no way. A temper tantrum in the grocery store brought instant mortification. Learning how to be a parent is so fucking hard. Especially when your partner isn't available. I was still thinking more about that man than I did myself. Than I did my child. I continued to throw dirt in my grave.
Seven years after the first baby and five years after the lost baby, bundle of joy number two arrived on the scene. The most calm child still brought me agitation. Even though my heart was full, my brain was still suffocating. I wanted to enjoy my babies but there was no enjoyment in the monotonous day to day. Suddenly, number three arrived, unannounced and aggressively. Again, the initial thought is that I did not want this. I was so scared and alone in my own home, my own thoughts. I would hide in the bathroom from my children. Don't all mothers do that? Do they cry until their eyes hurt, as well?
I became physically ill most of that third pregnancy. Was it morning sickness or worry that hurt the most? When I bent down to pick my son up from the crib, the baby inside would induce vomit. Every morning. I was pregnant almost two years straight. My body was not able to recover from the first baby before my daughter took his place. Only fourteen months apart, they are like twins now, inseparable.
One without the other can not be.
Mommy cried every morning when daddy left for work. Every morning. Mommy cried for help and Daddy fucked the help. I remember cleaning up a mess from my incontinent seventeen year old cat, Sammy, who would soon be dead. He also suffered from my sickness. I should have loved him more in his final months instead of cursing him when he had an accident. Should have been more patient. I should have put my ex to sleep, not my Sam.
That night I was crying, as always, only this time while angrily cleaning up cat shit. My ex husband came around the corner. I looked him in the eye and begged him to help me without speaking a word. I was met with a look of pity and disgust that both infuriated me and cracked my heart. Help me!! What is wrong with me!?! I was never happy. Never wanted to do anything or go any where. I had no friends. Fun things pissed me off. My life was gray with no hint of color. My mind was making my body sick and my body was making my mind sick.
The whole truth finally hit me and I was no longer a human being. Just a walking bag of bones. I couldn't think of my kids, my parents, my pets. All I could do was feel sorry for myself. Swim in the shithole my mind had fun digging. I wanted to die at least once a day for many, many days. The anger and hatred, resentment, and bitterness came out of my pores and stained pages that may never be seen. The words dripped out of me like sweat. I had finally had enough. Enough of it all.
I dragged myself out of that hole I had dove into. It was a conscious decision to not stay down in that snug little unsafe place anymore. I had to uncover myself, so I turned to medication and therapy. The first day of counseling, I crawled through that door. A year later and I can now hold the door open for others. Pills put the correct chemicals in my brain so my mind doesn't have to work so hard to be happy. Yoga strengthened my spirit and my arms so that I could hold my own weight and pull myself up.
I let it all go in small exhalations. The betrayals, the lies, the sadness and cries. I just let it evaporate. Just as I had experienced it alone, I conquered it alone. I let my babies take up that empty space inside now. They gave my dark forest some sunlight. I enjoy them. Optimistic thoughts drown my past pessimism. Finally, I am the rainbow again, and there is no gray anymore. I am pink, purple, red, and the most brilliant yellow. My life is nowhere near black and white, and it never will be again.
We moved up and down the east coast trying to locate his happiness. His success. All at the expense of my own. I struggled through my suffering. He closed his eyes. He was too consumed with his own inner demons to care about mine. My first born suffered through my new mom anxieties. I wanted everything perfect, everyone happy, enriched. No fits for my perfect angel, no way. A temper tantrum in the grocery store brought instant mortification. Learning how to be a parent is so fucking hard. Especially when your partner isn't available. I was still thinking more about that man than I did myself. Than I did my child. I continued to throw dirt in my grave.
Seven years after the first baby and five years after the lost baby, bundle of joy number two arrived on the scene. The most calm child still brought me agitation. Even though my heart was full, my brain was still suffocating. I wanted to enjoy my babies but there was no enjoyment in the monotonous day to day. Suddenly, number three arrived, unannounced and aggressively. Again, the initial thought is that I did not want this. I was so scared and alone in my own home, my own thoughts. I would hide in the bathroom from my children. Don't all mothers do that? Do they cry until their eyes hurt, as well?
I became physically ill most of that third pregnancy. Was it morning sickness or worry that hurt the most? When I bent down to pick my son up from the crib, the baby inside would induce vomit. Every morning. I was pregnant almost two years straight. My body was not able to recover from the first baby before my daughter took his place. Only fourteen months apart, they are like twins now, inseparable.
One without the other can not be.
Mommy cried every morning when daddy left for work. Every morning. Mommy cried for help and Daddy fucked the help. I remember cleaning up a mess from my incontinent seventeen year old cat, Sammy, who would soon be dead. He also suffered from my sickness. I should have loved him more in his final months instead of cursing him when he had an accident. Should have been more patient. I should have put my ex to sleep, not my Sam.
That night I was crying, as always, only this time while angrily cleaning up cat shit. My ex husband came around the corner. I looked him in the eye and begged him to help me without speaking a word. I was met with a look of pity and disgust that both infuriated me and cracked my heart. Help me!! What is wrong with me!?! I was never happy. Never wanted to do anything or go any where. I had no friends. Fun things pissed me off. My life was gray with no hint of color. My mind was making my body sick and my body was making my mind sick.
The whole truth finally hit me and I was no longer a human being. Just a walking bag of bones. I couldn't think of my kids, my parents, my pets. All I could do was feel sorry for myself. Swim in the shithole my mind had fun digging. I wanted to die at least once a day for many, many days. The anger and hatred, resentment, and bitterness came out of my pores and stained pages that may never be seen. The words dripped out of me like sweat. I had finally had enough. Enough of it all.
I dragged myself out of that hole I had dove into. It was a conscious decision to not stay down in that snug little unsafe place anymore. I had to uncover myself, so I turned to medication and therapy. The first day of counseling, I crawled through that door. A year later and I can now hold the door open for others. Pills put the correct chemicals in my brain so my mind doesn't have to work so hard to be happy. Yoga strengthened my spirit and my arms so that I could hold my own weight and pull myself up.
I let it all go in small exhalations. The betrayals, the lies, the sadness and cries. I just let it evaporate. Just as I had experienced it alone, I conquered it alone. I let my babies take up that empty space inside now. They gave my dark forest some sunlight. I enjoy them. Optimistic thoughts drown my past pessimism. Finally, I am the rainbow again, and there is no gray anymore. I am pink, purple, red, and the most brilliant yellow. My life is nowhere near black and white, and it never will be again.
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