Dearest Diary…

The passage of time seems to pick up speed the further along the journey I go.  The wave of nostalgia overcomes me as something reminds me of who I used to be.  The memories grow stronger the more in tune I become with who I am.  Hesitanting ever so slightly when I catch my breath when I am forced to remember something that was not so very pleasant.  In order for me to heal I truly have to be able to stare back at those ghosts from the past dead on.  I used to love being over taken by melancholy.  Laying there numb by the realness of the moment but to scared to move as I didn’t want to chase it away.  You see I let the pain lull me into a quiet oblivion where I stayed until it was safe to come out.

I never was one to make friends easily.  Maybe in someway it was far easier to retreat into myself.  Being an *sshole to many made it alot easier to not get to close.  I have this natural ability to drive people away and it is in the same natural ability that I am able to draw those into my web.  Being exposed through a multitude of different horrifying experiences both in my youth and as an adult made it easier to just not care.  I would frequently shut myself out from the World when it was necessary to do so.  I never intended to cause any embarassment but such as life that is what most of us become.  Looking back at our lives we will never be happy. We are destined to stare down the road less travelled and wonder what if.  What if I never tried? What if I just laid here and never got up, would anybody notice? Would anybody care?

So many good people suffer way less than I ever have.  I mean yes I can cry and feel this pain that really when I think about it is just superficial.  Do I feel like at the time my heart was breaking? Sure.  But did I really think it was? Quite simply the answer is no.  When you come out of an experience of loss such as I when you are young and still manage to rise to a reasonable, acceptable level one simply can not complain.  I am not oblivious to the fact that yes as a young teen girl I was raped in my parents house.  The act took place by somebody I trusted and while my parents were in the shower getting ready for bed.  In fact this was somebody that I was intimate with before but had no desire going forward.  Could I have said no more, sure.  Did I? No.  I guess I could have tried to get somebody to notice what was going on but it was far easier to feel disgusted and cry.  Begging somebody to stop when they think that it is their right to do so and not only that feeling that you know he really just doesn’t care how much this is hurting.  Doing what came natural I built this giant wall around me.  Yes every once in awhile somebody would make their way in.  I am of course human but all things considered I was truly void of being able to fall head over heels for anybody.

Dating for me became something out of social acceptance.  The idea that I would have to choose just one person to stimulate my soul for the rest of our lives and then on to the next seem unheard of to me.  There are so many beautiful souls in the world to uncover.  The beauty of it all is in addition to all these beautiful people you have these awful beings that are only placed here on Earth to make you feel about one inch tall.  They carry on their ways in these grande gestures of grandeur like they are walking on water.  We all have experienced these gargoyles.  I in fact was one when I needed to adapt to certain situations.  I am guilty of telling secrets to those in order to have somebody like me.  I never truly felt like I felt in anywhere.  Being a teen girl in the early 90’s who not only got pregnant but who also had an abortion was a very terrifying feeling.  I so don’t understand why almost 30 years later we are almost back to that day when I first found out that I was.  I was so young that my parents made the decision for me.  We never talked about it.  It just happened one day.  Even now when I think about it I never really had anybody to talk to.  No counsellors, no parents, no friends.  Back then you were really a social outcast. I mean right before I had my surgery (I mean months) you used to have to stand up in front of the courts to get them to legalize your case. They were trying to minimize the amount of times that women had these procedures done.  It was really very risky even back then.  Anytime you have anything medical done you are always accepting a certain amount of risk.  I did however have to talk to this real old guy.  He must have been at least 80.  I remember when I drove to the hospital with my mom for the interview.  My parents both went over with me the importance of telling him my desire to terminate that pregancy.  I remember thinking that if only they would let me keep this lil baby I would finally have somebody to accept me for me.  You can’t help but dream of your life as a mom.  Even know I as I write this all out I am filled with so much sorrow. My heart kept telling me to run out of that office and never look back.  That anything can be possible but you just have to get up and run.  Like a coward I sat there and talked to this guy.  It was almost like he could see right down into the depths of my soul.  He told me that if I decided to have this child that there were resources to help.  He asked me if it was my decision. I said yes.  As we were walking out he told me not to ask the sex. What I write next is not for the faint of heart so this is a warning.  The DR told me not to ask as it would be impossible.  That once out the fetus would look like hamburger.  He never once told me that the reason why it would look that way was from the tool that he was using.  I can’t believe that is how my first baby ended.

I was 13 going on 30 with the guilt of the World on my shoulders.  Alcohol was my only friend until it became to the point where I needed more.  My tortured brain would never allow me to forget anything that happened that summer when I was a little girl as the guilt became the only thing that I craved.  I would torment myself with visions of a happy family. I always thought that she would have been a little girl.  Spending the summer babysitting became almost to hard for me to withstand.  That summer would become the first time I would try to take my own life.  If what everybody was saying was true and I could meet my daughter again then I wanted it to be sooner or later.  Why live in a world where nobody wanted to hear your side.  To get up everyday with a hole in my heart became my biggest challenge.  It didn’t even bother me when hate messages showed up around my school.  Nothing says forgiveness like the words baby killer written all over your locker.  I must say I was expecting it.  I watched every episode of Degrassi High and Junior High.  I remember the protestors that tried to spot Spike.  I was prepared for backlash and I guess that’s why I quickly learned to conform to what others had thought of me.  It was easier to blend in then to try and stick out from a crowd.  I felt so much shame everyday that I was that person.

Here I sit 26 years later with the same hole in my heart that will always be there.  Of course.  The memory of that child will forever be imprinted on my heart.  I never realized the true value of the moment until that moment was gone.  It took a very long time for me to forgive myself and I think I can finally say that I have.   Life is this super precious gift and although I wish I had the power to change it all, I know the decision that was made did come from a very good place.  As much as it can be when it comes to what I had to go through.  Finally becoming a mom and being able to hold that piece of me was that full circle coming together.  I guess my birthing storey couldn’t be one of simple measures.  The only thing that I remember from the wee early mornings of the day my son was born was this:

I saw myself laying on a table with my husband by my side.  The room was incredibly white and sterile and the lights were so bright. I reached over to put my hands on his shoulders as I felt them shake uncontrollably.  I could see how much pain he was in as I began to float above him.  My son was safely in an incubator being rushed out of the room. As my husband took my hand I fully went into the light. From that moment on I don’t remember what happened.  I know 12 minutes passed with us all like that. Twelve minutes becomes a very long time for one to be away.  Hours later I awoke once again with my husband by my side.  This time I was in a darker room with what felt like thousands of needles sticking out of my body.  As my eyes opened my husband looked up.  He smiled at me and squeezed my hand.  He asked if I knew where I was.  I told him that I knew that our son was born and that I was in the hospital.  I had no idea that I almost died.  I knew there was complications but as the realization sunk in that maybe I almost didn’t make it back sent me into shock.  I tried explaining to my husband that we were talking in the hospital and he informed me that this was the first time that I woke up since I had arrived.  What I imagined might have been just all in my head.  What I think that truly happened was a visit from my family, maybe even my girl.  Since that day I have been filled with a new purpose of being.  I am filled with this only raw positive energy that I want to use to infect the world.  Most days I don’t rememer too much of my past so it makes it harder for me to sulk or grieve for days long passed.  At times it seems surreal that this is my life now but I know that no matter what I will never be alone.  The love that brought me back to stay a little a longer is so strong and comforting it is hard not to correct the course of my life.  I have alot of things to make up for and alot of healing still needs to be done.  At least in writing I have found a way to communicate effectively and to let it all out.  If it wasn’t for these outpourings I probably wouldn’t have grown as much spiritually as I have.

person riding a bicycle during rainy day
Photo by Genaro Servín on Pexels.com
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