This time of year is my favourite. Always has been.
After the death of Beatrice almost three years ago, October now not only marks the start of all my favourite things, it also marks the beginning of the end of my daughter.
She really came alive in October. Everyone could feel her moving around, most could see her; it wasn’t just me feeling her any more. She got dressed up on Halloween with me (remember my cute skeleton t-shirt?). I was less than a month away from maternity. I was buying her Christmas presents. I was looking forward to the rest of our lives and planning marvellous things.
And that is all I have. Those memories.
This means that, as people dress up for Halloween, frolic in the autumn leaves, wrap up warm on bonfire night and look forward to Christmas, I am trying to engage in that whilst also raising awareness of Baby Loss Awareness Week and lighting candles and floating flowers on lakes and trying hard to keep the memory of my daughter alive. I am constantly battling all those lovely, warm emotions that the Autumnal atmosphere brings- all my favourite things- with ‘this was all I had with her’. Somewhere along this line, I know I feel I guilty for feeling happy- although this isn’t a surface emotion any more- but the overwhelming feeling for me at the moment is anger.
I am so fucking angry.
Last night, after my Sky engineer didn’t turn up as scheduled, I screamed down the phone at strangers who had done nothing wrong. I probably ruined their day. Maybe their week. I shouted and I screamed and, whilst I did apologise that they were getting the full force of my anger because it wasn’t personally their fault (hopefully that reduced the ‘ruining of their week’ thing a bit), I called several people and systems some hideous things. If I had been speaking to me last night, I would have put the phone down on me.
All that had happened was that my sky engineer hadn’t turned up. All that meant was that I am going to have to wait a few more weeks to be able to record my shows on a box rather than plug my laptop into my tele. Whilst there is no denying that this is not good customer service, in the grand scheme of things, it affected my life in the smallest of ways and my behaviour was completed unwarranted.
But last night? Last night it boiled my blood and ruined my world.
This isn’t the first time this has happened.
Every time I get worked up like this, I end up just feeling sorry for myself. So dramatic. So over the top.
Why does everything always happen to me? Is this what it’s like for everyone or is it just us? Is this life? Is this being an adult? Or am I really that unlucky? People say ‘only the people who can handle it are sent the tough things; you’re only experiencing this because you’re strong’. You know what? BULLSHIT! I’m not strong. I’ve had enough. I’m close to breaking point. One more thing and I will be tipped over the edge…
Now, when I was saying those things to myself last night, sobbing into my husband, do you really think that was about the sky engineer not turning up? I don’t.
I think I’m angry all the time. I think I’m angry over something that doesn’t have a vent. I think I don’t want to be angry because it is pointless and illogical so I just push it down, deep inside my gut, until there is a legitimate reason to be angry. And then I blow up. Over something that should probably just make me a little miffed.
I think I’m angry that my daughter died. I believe I am furious at WHOEVER that I have to keep processing the fact that my daughter died. That, as her mother, I could do absolutely nothing to stop that. Or to help her. I’m not angry at anyone because there is no-one to be angry at. I can’t direct that to anyone because it is nobody’s fault. Instead, I’ve just bottled it up. I’m trying to be positive. I don’t want her memory to be a negative one. I blog about how tough it is but how great it is.
But do you know what?! I am so, so bloody angry. All the time. I can feel it now bubbling in my cheeks. I am full, of boiling blood.
I don’t want to be writing this. I don’t want to know anything about stillbirth or neonatal death. I don’t want to be a statistic. I don’t want to have to think about a damn thing! I don’t want to have to carry around this humongous weight all the time. I don’t want to be lighting candles and floating flowers and ‘saying prayers’. I don’t want to be wrapping a single Christmas present ‘from Beatrice’ to a child I don’t even know. I don’t want to constantly battle with feelings of happiness and sadness. I don’t want to keep finding ‘happiness’ at the bottom of a bottle of wine or the end of a bar of chocolate. I don’t want any of this to have happened to me. To us. I don’t want to be taking to tablets to ‘level me out’. I do not want to be me right now. I don’t want to do any of it.
I just want to enjoy Autumn. I want to be able to sit down at night and let my mind wander and dream without it ending in tears. I want to stop taking my tablets and know that I am safe in my own head. I want to be happy, calm, excited… without a giant lump in my throat. I want to be naïve. I want to have a good sleep. I want to enjoy my life and be happy because I’ve got everything I ever wanted. I want to not self-sabotage.
And I am just furious- like, steam coming out of my ears, red-faced, screaming, punching, kicking kind of angry- that that is not my reality.
I’ve just emptied my head straight into this blog and now I’m sobbing. I’m guna just keep going until I’ve got nothing left. I’m letting the anger out and I’m taking it out on the air around me, hurting nobody, so that it stops eating me from the inside.
She is the most wonderful thing that happened to me and I am pissed off to the point of explosion that I have to live without her.
And very rightly so.