Last year, I lost a pregnancy. And it sucked. Majorly. I didn’t let myself grieve as much as I probably should have because I have this insane notion that because I am the one who holds the whole world together (for my family at least), I didn’t have the right to break down and spend a lot of time coming to grips with this awful thing that happened to me.
Which landed me (for a day at least) in the hospital because I was sobbing hysterically and couldn’t stop while at the same time mumbling complete and utter nonsense.
Most days, I feel ok about it. I’ve come to accept that it happened for a reason (even though I don’t know what that is). Then there are days where Grief and Depression gang up on me and proceed to give me a beat down of epic proportions.
Yesterday was one of those days. I woke up and realized that if I’d carried to full term, I’d have a baby around seven months old now and we’d be getting ready to celebrate his/her first Christmas. Depression had me in a stranglehold while Grief punched me repeatedly in the gut, causing me to sob uncontrollably for the better part of an hour. I spent most of the day curled up in bed, mindlessly watching Youtube videos (most of which involved cake decorating for some odd reason). I barely had the strength to get out of bed and feed myself and my son lunch. I slept for several hours and dinner was a huge chore. I didn’t want to do it but my husband said we couldn’t afford to eat out last night plus he was going to be home too late to bring home anything and I really was NOT up to driving. Like..at all. So I made some sad hamburgers and oven baked tater tots and called it a night.
Today is a little better..not much, but enough that I was actually able to fake it enough to go to work. I hate faking it, but sometimes it’s the only way I get through the day.
I’m a Southern girl, which means I was raised to hide my feelings and smile, smile, smile all the time. I’m supposed to sacrifice and sacrifice and sacrifice some more til it hurts, then somehow dig deep and give just an ounce more blood, sweat and tears. I’m also the one who holds the whole world together for my family since I’m the coordinator of schedules, taxi driver for pubescent boys, runner of errands, cooker of foods and supreme housekeeper. I can’t fall apart..I don’t have the time to fall apart because people fucking DEPEND on me.
And it sucks. It sucks that if my husband wants to fall apart and lay in bed depressed for a week, he can. But I can’t. Because clothes and dishes wouldn’t get washed, the cat wouldn’t get fed and my son would never wear clean underwear. I hate sometimes having to be the strong one, the dependable one, the one who everybody goes to with their problems. But what if I need to fall apart? What am I supposed to do?
I wish I knew. I wish I had an answer but I don’t. I just have to keep trudging along and hope to god I don’t run out of antidepressants, coffee or chocolate. Because then I really would be in a world of hurt. Those three things, along with meditation daily, are what keep me upright and mostly sane, since falling apart isn’t exactly a privilege I get to enjoy.