I shall ponder upon this, either until the question is answered or I have exploded due to suppressed rage.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Because I Can, And I Need To Vent.
I wonder the legalities of publishing an email correspondence without the consent of the Evil Bitch other party.
I shall ponder upon this, either until the question is answered or I have exploded due to suppressed rage.
I shall ponder upon this, either until the question is answered or I have exploded due to suppressed rage.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Birthday Wishes
It is very quickly approaching the anniversay of my birth, and of Ella's birth.
Both are significant birthdays. Ella's because she will have survived her first year of life and remains the happiest baby ever, so long as you give her food every 10 minutes. Mine because I will have reached that age where "they" say life begins, and I wonder.
I'm sure some lives do begin at 40, with a newly-found acceptance of self, of freedom from the responsibilities of parenting. But mine...?
I find myself on the brink of 40 with limitations that cause me both physical and emotional pain, with trying to be a "good enough" mother to two beautiful children who deserve more than I can give them, and being wife to someone who is clearly not coping (and why would he?) with the difficulties that my condition has placed before him.
What exactly is life going to give me now that I am, give or take, at the middle of my life? Physically, for me, it seems to be all downhill from here. I resign myself to the fact that I will never be able to run with my son the way he wants me to. I will never be able to lift him up and twirl him around the way I see other parents do with their child. I feel as though I will always be on the sidelines in the lives of my children when I long to be there right in the middle of things, wrestling or bike riding or just sitting on the floor and playing a game. I want to pick up my beautiful Ella Bella Mozzarella and hold her close for more than the few minutes available to me before my back is telling me that any more will mean a week without walking.
I want to drive my own car. I want to have a whole day to myself. I want to drive this way and then on a whim drive that way and, in the words of my son, "see what I can see". I want to have a functioning brain that is not addled by the cocktail of pain management medications I must take every day. I want to not be a burden to those I love. I want to know that my condition is not permanent and that there is some hope, somewhere, of leading a normal life.
I want to know that the white matter lesions in my brain are not Multiple Sclerosis.
Both are significant birthdays. Ella's because she will have survived her first year of life and remains the happiest baby ever, so long as you give her food every 10 minutes. Mine because I will have reached that age where "they" say life begins, and I wonder.
I'm sure some lives do begin at 40, with a newly-found acceptance of self, of freedom from the responsibilities of parenting. But mine...?
I find myself on the brink of 40 with limitations that cause me both physical and emotional pain, with trying to be a "good enough" mother to two beautiful children who deserve more than I can give them, and being wife to someone who is clearly not coping (and why would he?) with the difficulties that my condition has placed before him.
What exactly is life going to give me now that I am, give or take, at the middle of my life? Physically, for me, it seems to be all downhill from here. I resign myself to the fact that I will never be able to run with my son the way he wants me to. I will never be able to lift him up and twirl him around the way I see other parents do with their child. I feel as though I will always be on the sidelines in the lives of my children when I long to be there right in the middle of things, wrestling or bike riding or just sitting on the floor and playing a game. I want to pick up my beautiful Ella Bella Mozzarella and hold her close for more than the few minutes available to me before my back is telling me that any more will mean a week without walking.
I want to drive my own car. I want to have a whole day to myself. I want to drive this way and then on a whim drive that way and, in the words of my son, "see what I can see". I want to have a functioning brain that is not addled by the cocktail of pain management medications I must take every day. I want to not be a burden to those I love. I want to know that my condition is not permanent and that there is some hope, somewhere, of leading a normal life.
I want to know that the white matter lesions in my brain are not Multiple Sclerosis.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Another One Bites The Dust
You...you who acts the perfect princess with the voice of an angel and the aura of a successful social butterfly...
You are the product of your upbringing at the hands of a narcissist, and so you have become one yourself. You cannot look at your mirror image and say "you are wrong". So you hear your mother's words and you see yourself in her and you say "she is right."
You don't care if she is not right. More than that, you do not even entertain the notion that she could be wrong. It is not possible, for I am she and she is me. I am right. She is right.
So You destroy relationships, just as she has destroyed relationships. It is what you do for it is what she does. You place your hands over your ears and close your eyes to any truth that does not fit the tale you tell yourself, the tale you have been told.
You break my heart but that knowledge does not touch yours, for if it did you would be wrong, she would be wrong.
You, who were my friend long before you were my family, You are now placed, sadly, in the same messy, painful package in my head as:
You are the one who has lost. You lose something real: being part of the lives of two amazing children, the friendship and love of a brother. My friendship and love.
I...I lose something that was never there. I lose the illusion of care, the illusion of love, the illusion of a real relationship at all.
You believe what you have been told. You think so little of me that you toss me aside without question, without a "what the fuck? Is this true?"
Illusion or not, it still breaks my heart.
Broken or not, it is best that you have ended this relationship. You, who are not what I thought you were, are not the You I want in my life.
The real You stood up.
I dont like You.
You are the product of your upbringing at the hands of a narcissist, and so you have become one yourself. You cannot look at your mirror image and say "you are wrong". So you hear your mother's words and you see yourself in her and you say "she is right."
You don't care if she is not right. More than that, you do not even entertain the notion that she could be wrong. It is not possible, for I am she and she is me. I am right. She is right.
So You destroy relationships, just as she has destroyed relationships. It is what you do for it is what she does. You place your hands over your ears and close your eyes to any truth that does not fit the tale you tell yourself, the tale you have been told.
You break my heart but that knowledge does not touch yours, for if it did you would be wrong, she would be wrong.
You, who were my friend long before you were my family, You are now placed, sadly, in the same messy, painful package in my head as:
- my parents
- my brother
- the violent alcoholic who stole 4 years of my life from me
- the friend who sexually assaulted me, and
- the friends who, knowing what happened, made me socialise with those perpetrators.
You are the one who has lost. You lose something real: being part of the lives of two amazing children, the friendship and love of a brother. My friendship and love.
I...I lose something that was never there. I lose the illusion of care, the illusion of love, the illusion of a real relationship at all.
You believe what you have been told. You think so little of me that you toss me aside without question, without a "what the fuck? Is this true?"
Illusion or not, it still breaks my heart.
Broken or not, it is best that you have ended this relationship. You, who are not what I thought you were, are not the You I want in my life.
The real You stood up.
I dont like You.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Ch-ch-changes
So, things have changed around here while I've been away.
Felix turned 2, we sent him to local child care to help him socialise with other kids and he was very quickly identified as "kid most likely to be gifted." The Terrible Twos started at 18 months and made me think that he would be identified as "Kid Most Likely To Be Homicidal Maniac."
Evil Felix
Impish Felix
Then there was a little thing called an Anniversary, followed two weeks later by much in the way of "How the bloody hell did THIS happen?"
Such musings were shortly followed by crippling pain thanks to a prolapsed disc at L4/L5 for the whole of the pregnancy, with pain so bad that I couldnt walk and at various times:
a) wanted to die,
b) wanted them to take the baby out at 28 weeks and GIVE ME SOME DAMN GOOD DRUGS,
c) was crying and swearing at the Senior Consultant at the hospital until I got me some damn good drugs but then had to deal with the perpetual worry of what said drugs would do to the baby.
At the end, even with the damn good drugs, the pain was so bad that they decided to induce 2 weeks early.
For those of you that have stuck around from tales of The Spud, cast your mind back to 2 years and 4 months previously. There was a little drama going on about the induction of the Spud. That 3-day event was a mere picnic when compared to the 5-day horror show that ended with this:
A gorgeous little girl, Ella Grace, who weighed in at 8.8lbs and was born via emergency c-section under a general anaesthetic and had the cord wrapped twice around her neck. I lost 1.2 litres of blood and had the delivery converted to a general anaesthetic when I could feel them cutting.me.open.
Yes, you read that right.
Thanks to the drugs I had taken during the pregnancy, Ella was kept in the neonetal intensive care unit for the duration of my post-5 day labour and c-section bloodbath hospital stay.
It was over 24 hours before I could even go to see her and hold her properly.
5 days later, these 3 shattered people were allowed to go home to a toddler and no help.
For all sorts of reasons, some of which I may elaborate on and some of which I probably still cant, this was a Very.Bad.Idea.
We all survived, but certainly not unscathed. It wasnt until Ella was about 8 weeks old that I realised that she did not actually hate me.
She made cute little noises and when she looked directly into my eyes at about 8 weeks and gave me a very obvious and beautiful smile, I finally felt like I could mother this child.
The crippling back pain that I was told would go away once I delivered did not, in fact, change in the slightest. Two MRI's and a second opinion later we have the pronouncement that more than likely this will be a permanent condition.
Mummy and daddy couldnt cope with everything that life was dishing out, so Ella was off to child care with her Big Brother, where she was instantly at home and deemed Happiest Baby Ever.
She has reached all her milestones early, as does her brother and at 11 months is so close to walking and talking it hurts.
Felix turned 3 and is so intelligent it floors me every day. He knows all the colours, knows his shapes, can actually count objects up to 12, can do simple arithmetic and shows a remarkable understanding of abstract ideas. He remains a whirlwind, will no doubt be psych-tested and deemed "gifted." He keeps us permanently exhausted, frustrated, amazed and amused.
This life, these challenges, these moments of agony and of perfection, are not what I imagined when I began the difficult journey to have a family. I didnt see past the goal of ending up with real live baby at the end of a normal 9-month gestation.
"Ooooh, its all worth it in the end" I hear so often I want to stab people with a teething rusk or whatever object happens to hand.
Lets leave that for the next session, shall we?
Felix turned 2, we sent him to local child care to help him socialise with other kids and he was very quickly identified as "kid most likely to be gifted." The Terrible Twos started at 18 months and made me think that he would be identified as "Kid Most Likely To Be Homicidal Maniac."
Impish Felix
Then there was a little thing called an Anniversary, followed two weeks later by much in the way of "How the bloody hell did THIS happen?"
Such musings were shortly followed by crippling pain thanks to a prolapsed disc at L4/L5 for the whole of the pregnancy, with pain so bad that I couldnt walk and at various times:
a) wanted to die,
b) wanted them to take the baby out at 28 weeks and GIVE ME SOME DAMN GOOD DRUGS,
c) was crying and swearing at the Senior Consultant at the hospital until I got me some damn good drugs but then had to deal with the perpetual worry of what said drugs would do to the baby.
At the end, even with the damn good drugs, the pain was so bad that they decided to induce 2 weeks early.
For those of you that have stuck around from tales of The Spud, cast your mind back to 2 years and 4 months previously. There was a little drama going on about the induction of the Spud. That 3-day event was a mere picnic when compared to the 5-day horror show that ended with this:
A gorgeous little girl, Ella Grace, who weighed in at 8.8lbs and was born via emergency c-section under a general anaesthetic and had the cord wrapped twice around her neck. I lost 1.2 litres of blood and had the delivery converted to a general anaesthetic when I could feel them cutting.me.open.
Yes, you read that right.
Thanks to the drugs I had taken during the pregnancy, Ella was kept in the neonetal intensive care unit for the duration of my post-5 day labour and c-section bloodbath hospital stay.
It was over 24 hours before I could even go to see her and hold her properly.
5 days later, these 3 shattered people were allowed to go home to a toddler and no help.
For all sorts of reasons, some of which I may elaborate on and some of which I probably still cant, this was a Very.Bad.Idea.
We all survived, but certainly not unscathed. It wasnt until Ella was about 8 weeks old that I realised that she did not actually hate me.
She made cute little noises and when she looked directly into my eyes at about 8 weeks and gave me a very obvious and beautiful smile, I finally felt like I could mother this child.
The crippling back pain that I was told would go away once I delivered did not, in fact, change in the slightest. Two MRI's and a second opinion later we have the pronouncement that more than likely this will be a permanent condition.
Mummy and daddy couldnt cope with everything that life was dishing out, so Ella was off to child care with her Big Brother, where she was instantly at home and deemed Happiest Baby Ever.
She has reached all her milestones early, as does her brother and at 11 months is so close to walking and talking it hurts.
Felix turned 3 and is so intelligent it floors me every day. He knows all the colours, knows his shapes, can actually count objects up to 12, can do simple arithmetic and shows a remarkable understanding of abstract ideas. He remains a whirlwind, will no doubt be psych-tested and deemed "gifted." He keeps us permanently exhausted, frustrated, amazed and amused.
This life, these challenges, these moments of agony and of perfection, are not what I imagined when I began the difficult journey to have a family. I didnt see past the goal of ending up with real live baby at the end of a normal 9-month gestation.
"Ooooh, its all worth it in the end" I hear so often I want to stab people with a teething rusk or whatever object happens to hand.
Lets leave that for the next session, shall we?
Thursday, July 09, 2009
Erm...
Yeh.
Hi.
Seemed to have got a little distracted there.
Perhaps my brain really did turn to runny icecream.
Perhaps stuff so big that it left no room for a functional brain happened.
Obviously, one cannot describe the events of the last two years in a single post.
For now, it is enough to say: "I'm still here. I'm alive. I have Things To Say."
Yes, for now that will do.
Hi.
Seemed to have got a little distracted there.
Perhaps my brain really did turn to runny icecream.
Perhaps stuff so big that it left no room for a functional brain happened.
Obviously, one cannot describe the events of the last two years in a single post.
For now, it is enough to say: "I'm still here. I'm alive. I have Things To Say."
Yes, for now that will do.
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