The beginning of this month is an especially hard one for me every year. It always makes me a little introspective, and not always in a good way.
Five years ago on October 1, I discovered I was pregnant. On the 10th, I had an abortion because doctors told me I would die if I didn't. This still feels wrong to me because I was adopted, and I really want to be a mother someday. But I have to somehow make peace with it all, and that's what I'm trying to do this year.
It's not easy with the annual at least nightly bad dreams involving a little girl asking me why she couldn't live, and actually pretty angry over the whole thing. This time, due to some very cherished wisdom, I'm trying to give her space to be angry. So it's been a little less torturous for us both. People usually tell me that she has forgiven me and now I just need to forgive myself.
Well, I don't feel forgiven, and I definitely don't forgive myself yet. But, like I said, the space to be angry thing is proving a little helpful. Just a little, but it's better than nothing. This whole thing gets a crippling hold on me sometimes.
On the 10th, I'm going to try to find a way to bury her/set her free. I'm not sure what this will involve. Maybe shaving my head, which is something I really want to do because I think it would be the best way to let things go. But I'm not sure that I can deal with the resulting barrage of Inquisition style questioning from my "family," who seem to think that the only acceptable reasons for a woman to shave her head is either because she has cancer or is supporting someone else who does. I know I should be able to make all of my decisions without having to worry about this family influence thing, but unfortunately that doesn't usually work out in my world. So I don't know what will happen.
My next massage is scheduled for the 11th, though. Their number is dwindling, but for now I still have them. Thank God for them, and for their giver.
Other additions to this depression include living for four days with the pain of a catheter that was six times too large for my bladder. Yes, apparently the pharmacy is of the opinion that a 30 cc balloon will work just as well as, or maybe even better than, a five CC balloon. I was screaming sometimes in bladder overstretch pain. Its finally fixed.
I had another scare that got me to thinking about all of this. I almost got hit by a car again, trying to walk toward coffee right after my last massage. I was not in my body enough to drive my chair yet, and I didn't see that a light had changed. Since then, I have been thinking what would people have said about me if I had gone then? They would all say that I made them happy or smile. I guess that's good, but not all of the mark I hope that I would leave after 29 years of life. But that's me. Everybody's friend. Everybody's clown. Everybody's reason to be thankful they are not like me. Two people actually said that to me on the bus recently, that they thank God they are not like me.
And then yesterday, I was left in bed until 4:30 p.m. waiting for necessary procedure. All of this is just wrong. And it's been almost 7 months here anyway. Way past time to move on, but there is nothing on the horizon yet.
I forgot to mention in my last blog that I ran into the ex-boyfriend on the train. His one comment was, "I know you. You used to be Amber." Used to be? Whatever. I moved to a different car.
But in a way, I feel he is right. I feel like a shadow of the person I used to be, despite my recent poker foray and little successes. (11th place all around in the September monthly tournament, sixth place in one of the weekly ones last night.) I don't know what's causing it all together. I think the spirit of this place is trying to come for me. I get angry so easily now, which kind of bothers me, however justified the anger might be.
Like at our old friend Joe breaking his self-imposed code of silence to let me know where some pictures of him at his birthday party are posted for my viewing. Most of the time, I just roll my eyes and ignore him, but sometimes I think WTF makes him think that I want to see pictures of him happily giving me the finger by showing me that he is happy with the people and the life he chose over me? When is he ever going to get how much that hurts, especially when in most of the pictures I have looked at his eyes are still searching and/or begging for understanding and/or forgiveness? What am I supposed to do with this set of emotions on top of everything else? Does he even think about it? I doubt it. His therapist has probably already pronounced him cured (again) of the little living fantasy he made out of me.
If anyone finds the Amber I seem to be missing, please let me know.
*sigh*