Thursday, June 26, 2014

25 weeks

I'm 25 weeks pregnant tomorrow.

What an interesting ride it's been. I have felt so much guilt and struggle knowing this precious baby is growing in a body that feels so much pain on a day to day basis. I'm constantly checking in with buttercup and apologizing for the great big things that a baby shouldn't know about.

There are times when I can feel Bram is right here with this new baby, where I can tell he is telling baby all about him so that buttercup will know. There are times that I can't feel Bram at all and those times are so painful. I feel so much fear, not about Buttercup or buttercup's birth. I feel fear because I have so much to lose in addition to Bram. They say having is a child is to have a piece of your heart going walking outside your body. My heart has 5 pieces now and one of them was stolen. I don't know if I can handle another piece after this. I don't know if I can handle the risk it is to love so much.

In spite of the fear of losing so much again I'm already in love with this person, I'm savoring it. I know what position baby is in most of the time, I know the waking and sleeping times, I know how much this baby appreciates a good meal. I love every kick and roll. I love dreaming and hoping for a bright future.

I want to say however long I get to have this person on earth I'm grateful, but I'm selfish. I want for all of my children to have long happy lives, filled with memories that bring joy and feelings of love and calm and wholeness. Not just a few weeks, or a few month, or a few years, I want them to have a long well lived life.

Sunday, June 22, 2014

I have PTSD

I have PTSD, severe PTSD. Not because my son died, but because of how he died.

I suspect that being a support person to someone with PTSD is one of the most challenging things. Speaking from my experience, I'm moody, and can't make decisions even the smallest ones overwhelm me. Flashbacks often consume, and make it imposdible to be a good friend because I'm too stuck fighting for my next breath. I detach in a bad way, and because of that I seem rude and mean. I struggle every day. I often default to being numb, which leaves me feeling cold to those who seek my care(though I work my butt off to make sure my kids don't deal with that piece). Without intention I push people away. I isolate because I don't want to hurt those who matter so much to me. So instead of asking so much of them, instead of asking for help, for patience, for compassion, for endless amounts of forgiveness, Instead of all of that I stop talking. So yeah I imagine being a support person for someone with PTSD is pretty miserable.

I hate this.