Blue despite hope.

Sorry, this is probably going to be depressing and a little ranty. I’m just at the end of my tether. Please stay safe, don’t read if you’re feeling fragile: assume this post comes with a content warning. We briefly talk about suicidal thoughts too, nothing graphic, but still. Protect yourselves.

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We’re all tired. We had a really nice weekend with our parents, and a nice day yesterday with the Dutchman. He had a day off yesterday so we spent it together, after having taken our parents to the airport. They made it home safely and everything was fine. 

Last night, we crashed, energy wise. We ran right​ out of spoons and ended up floppy and weak. We sounded drunk because we were so tired. 

We’re tired of this. Our period hit on Saturday, the worst one we’ve had yet. The cramps felt like we were partly being bathed in acid and partly slashed by razor blades. It is agony. We managed to pretend we had the energy to do things™ this weekend, but now all we want to do is sleep and hope the pain and exhaustion leaves.

We overdid it and our beleaguered, battered body is now paying the price.

We’re tired of that. We hate it. We hate that May has come and it’s a double trauma anniversary now, coupled with the knowledge that next month was when we lost our little Fay…

We have had an MRI and are waiting for a miracle. Hopefully someone saw something on the scan. Hopefully someone will know why our ovaries hurt so goddamn much. 

Hoping hurts and we are so, so frightened that we will not be able to get help for the pain. We are so done with hurting. In fact, we’re getting suicidal thoughts back again and it’s something we haven’t dealt with in ages, and that’s scary.

Please wish us well. We need you guys.

The forked path.

The way was not clear.

Two weeks I’ve languished in agony. I’ve been debating something that I know would change myself and my life.

Painful choices lay ahead. Two roads, two futures. Differences looming, pain, closure.

I’ve been crawling on my belly. I’ve been not sleeping and being unable to eat.

Eventually I knew what I had to do.

I’ll never forget what you did for me, J. I will always be grateful to you… But I can’t wait any more. I’m alone here, waiting for you. After Florida, everything ground to a halt. Like it always does, but this time there was a week’s radio silence.

 

Some gaps cannot be bridged.

 

The way ahead has been made clear now, but I’m still treading on glass for now. There’s so much hurt, and I’m so sorry, but this is not working.

 

I’ve been inactive on here because I’ve been thinking about all of this. I was so hurt by my own thoughts. I was so blinded to the truth.

The blur is fading though, and the clear patch came through. There’s going to be dark days, but I will make it.

TW: Pain and panic and hell in my own body.

Sorry I’ve been AWOL. I was doing really well.

I’ve been working at the dog kennels my auntie has recently bought, I’ve been busy with my best friend’s hen do, and living life and having fun. I feel like I’ve been doing so well and I’m so pleased that I have been managing so well.

I planned, in my therapist’s words, “a fairytale hen do,” and I enjoyed it so much. R’s face lit up in childish excitement, her eyes sparkling prettily and her smile glorious, as I unveiled each surprise. I’ve been her friend since we were eleven and I really wanted to show her bow much I care for her and respect her.

She had a brilliant time. We all did- me, my sister and her. My sister and I came home, we started unpacking, thinking about doing washing and sorting the house out for when my grandmother and uncle came to visit us the next day, and

WHAM.

I was suddenly crippled by pain. I curled up on my bed, gasping. It felt like the chestburster from Alien was clawing its way through my skin out of my womb. Pretty sure at this point it was a body memory, I pulled myself higher up the bed and willed it to go away.

It got worse.

My sister came in to ask my advice over something and was met with the sight of me unable to move, shaking and wide-eyed. She decided then and there we should phone the ambulance, but I didn’t want to. She decided on the emergency doctor instead.

Three hours later (yes, three hours of me being unable to move due to pain, screaming at times, crying and blacking out) the paramedics finally arrived. They were, as usual, amazing, and decided it was off to hospital with me. They got me into a chair in the ambulance and I told them what had been going on with my symptoms, and also managed to disclose what my ex did to me, and the miscarriage. The paramedic, a male one too, took me seriously, commended me on my bravery, and gave me gas and air to take so I would be ok and I would relax.

I got to A and E (ER for you American readers) and I was delivered to the Triage area and waited there. I was seen after about twenty minutes by a very grumpy nurse, who didn’t let me explain very much about why I was there, didn’t take my pain seriously and gave me a handful of painkillers to take.

The ordeal really began then. After two and a half hours of waiting, where I was denied more painkillers, not told whether or not I was allowed to eat or drink so I couldn’t… I finally saw a harassed male doctor who informed me I had pelvic pain which was, apparently, common in young women (bullshit, it really isn’t that common), and apparently it would go by itself. Here, take some painkillers, stop over-exaggerating, and go the fuck home.

I was sent home in pain.

I’m still in pain.

This whole experience has taught me something: In the UK, the NHS is fucked. We have doctors who won’t help because they have to tick boxes and avoid expense. We have a mental health service with too many psychiatrists and not enough psychologists. We have paramedics who should be paid what a consultant is paid, because I have quite frankly not met many consultants who knew what they were doing.

In the meantime?

I am living each day exhausted, hurt, and upset. I am trying hard to reassure fourteen-year-old me and fifteen-year-old me that we are ok and we won’t die. I have to ring up tomorrow and talk to the people who may have to do, along with a normal ultrasound scan, a trans-vaginal one, and explain why the appointment may take longer than they expect. I am left picking up the pieces of a broken system which does not, on the whole and excluding a few professionals working within, care at all about me or why I am in pain.

Endometriosis has been mentioned, and I am wondering whether the person who gave me her opinion could ne right.

I am anxious, upset, frightened and craving to have J’s hand in mine this Sunday. I’m praying it will all go well, and I will have a solution to the problem soon.

I’ve lived in pain for so long- my back, before that horrific periods, now this. I can’t go on in pain all my life. I don’t have much left if I lose my body.

TW: little one.

I barely have words for this.

I’ve been doing better- dissociative, absent-minded maybe, but better. And now it’s nearly July and I had my miscarriage then, and I am currently bleeding because I forgot to take a pill two days ago.

It’s bringing back memories of the horror of realising I was pregnant and pretty much immediately after that realising my marble was dead, my baby was gone. I have that hollow emptiness between my hipbones again where life should have grown. I am not cradling a three year old girl or boy in my arms, soothing my little one to sleep. I’m ragged and in pain, bleeding just like I did then.

I thought I had managed to put this aside a bit better than this, but I think that my body has not finished grieving yet. It’s still grieving for all the sorrows, crying out for all the times it was hurt and couldn’t do anything to stop it.

I hope I stop bleeding soon. I keep thinking that there’s something wrong, but what’s really wrong is that someone once put me through so much emotional pain that I lost my child.

I think I will have to ring the phone number the doctor gave me for the rape crisis centre near me. I think it’s time to find out what’s happening with my body, and to let myself continue to grieve for a dream that never happened.

Why is it that when something good needs to happen, six bad things happen instead?!

Ok, Universe, this isn’t funny. J really wants to see me, so why is everything going wrong for him that possibly could be?!

It’s been one thing after the next for him. I hate being so far away because he’s stressed and has nothing to take his mind off what’s going on. I feel stupid and inadequate being so far away, and I can’t do anything to help at all. All I can do is listen, and it doesn’t feel good enough.

Maybe one day something good will come along, but right now all I’m seeing is one big fucking obstacle after another and all I want to do is HELP, and I can’t. I think this is partially due to stress on my part too, but I feel overloaded right now, and I just wish it was all back to how it was in America on holiday- simple, uncomplicated and fun. I had my little freakouts and they got managed with patience. J had a blast because he was relaxed and with all of us, and he’s a social creature by nature. He loves chilling out and spending time laughing with our family. He prefers the company of people like us, with his sense of humour and with similar tastes.

Right now we’re trapped miles away from each other with things happening that neither of us can control- stuff’s not working right for him, and for me?

Nightmares, insomnia, and a desperate wish to just see him and hold him and tell him it WILL be all right, because I will make it all right.

Right now, frustration is all I have. I just want him to be happy.

Understanding my PTSD can be tough for some.

I’m hoping this is the way the PTSD is making me interpret this, but I’ve had an argument with my mum that’s made me really upset. I was trying to tell her that I feel like I have no time during the day for downtime- you know, the stuff that’s essential for me to feel less anxious and more in control? I’m upset that she thinks my three week holiday was all downtime and that my stay with J was downtime too. I fight my head on a daily basis and try to stay positive – she doesn’t see that I think. I have something serious- but then again, with a broken back, mum was still unhappy when I’d get through tendus and still be in agony and have to sit down.

Part of it is, I’m sure, desire to see me get better, but she was so disappointed in me today that I feel like some of it is because she can’t see how hard I’m working to stay normal. It makes me want to cry.

Nights like this…

Tonight I’m sleepless and trying to exorcise the demons in my head. J and I have just talked and I love love love the smooth, sweet drawl of his voice. That voice anchors me whilst I’m feeling strange.

I’ve been a little dissociative tonight. I’ve been at Saturday family tea- the whole clan, aunties, uncles, cousins- the lot. My auntie was babysitting her best friend’s daughter, who is a shining gem of a seven year old. She played with the puppy, a rare event- Juno puppy is not the world’s biggest fan of children, but this little girl is an old head on young shoulders. She let me read to her. She cuddled up with me and the puppy, her on my knee and the puppy beside me. I felt very safe, but somehow a little sad.

I think what’s triggered me a little is talking about my ex to her. My auntie was married to her abuser, and this little girl knows a highly edited version of that story. She calls him Naughty, so we all do too. We had gone upstairs in my nana’s house to see one of the many family portraits hanging on the walls, and she mentioned to me that she knew that Naughty was a bad guy because HIS smile was not a good smile. All the other people on the picture had big, happy, truthful smiles, she said. Only Naughty’s wasn’t right.

That really hit me hard. SHE could see, through our eyes, the flaw in him, the defect that ate at his core and caused such harm to my auntie that she ended up in hospital, too. She knew, this seven year old, that there was a man not to be trusted- and she could see that through his smile!

She asked why my auntie had even married him in the first place, so I explained that sometimes, the scariest baddies are the ones that pretend to be your best friend. I said that I had been with a naughty man, for six years.

The wise, innocent little face formed an expression I’ve mostly seen on adult faces: she was appreciating how hard that was for me.

“Whew,” she said, “that’s a long time.”

I said that yes, indeed it was, but he hadn’t started out bad. He’d pretended to be one of the good guys, and I had never seen the badness coming at all. He’d added the bad stuff in, bit by bit, until I didn’t know that he was all bad.

Looking at those feathery blonde brows rise in shock, I was struck with an intense desire to protect her. I would have jumped in front of a bullet for that child, and I still will. I would right now. I didn’t want that angelic creature to have to face what my auntie and I have faced- the sleepless nights thinking he is perfect and I am not, the agony inside as he breaks up with you and demands you back only for the cycle to repeat. I felt something tearing inside of me in my chest- my heart was trying to reach through my chest to keep her safe.

Talking to Dr K, my therapist, on Thursday may have stirred a lot up- I was trying to tell her about some of the things I’ve had to endure under him- but this has made me remember long nights waiting by the phone, worrying about ringing him in case it ‘wasn’t convenient right now’. I’d get yelled at if I didn’t ring at bang on ten pm. I feel like time is slipping backwards, like having a rug pulled out from under your feet. I remember the feeling in arguments, that bad feeling of ‘I’m losing you and it’s my fault and you knew I was going to say that, oh god why?!’

I’ve found a song that sums it all up. He never drove, but the car keys are symbolic. They are the keys to my heart, my freedom, my life. They are the things that drove me and the things he took control of, bit by bit. Those phonecalls I tried to make that he aborted with one stern word. The threats of all sorts, the demands, and finally go to sleep silly girl, we’re getting nowhere tonight. I would try not to get too upset but tears inevitably burned my cheeks, that acid tang, and the feeling of being about to throw up came when he called me pathetic. I was trying so hard. I was. I promise I’m trying so hard to be different and more like the girl you wanted me to be, the girl I was when you met me. I promise I won’t go to anyone with my problems, definitely not you, I’ll solve them myself. I know I’m weak and need to stop being such a little girl I promise I won’t do this again I swear I’m not going to hurt you I didn’t mean to oh god don’t say that to me I’m not like that I swear I’m not-

The loop plays on and on, and I drown it out with other things. But, in the background, it’s always there, along with his replies.