This week is a tough week Bloggies. It’s been a somber week for quite a while, but with everything else going on bringing old memories to the surface I really just want to disappear until March.
This week marks six years since I lost a pregnancy, which ironically happened mere hours before the father of the child called to end our relationship. It was a double whammy so to speak, and it hit me very hard. I really haven’t talked about just how much it effected me, because I was so busy trying to survive it. I’ve reached a point in my recovery where I can safely talk about it with out slipping into relapse and I think it’s time.
There was a whole lot going on February 2008. I had been busily job hunting for several weeks after leaving my stable salary job in preparation to move when my then boyfriend returned from his military training. I had gathered leasing information from several apartment complexes we were interested in, and sent them to him so he could make the final decision. Because I was fully anticipating living together I severed the lease with my apartment, and left every scrap of furniture behind. I took my personal belongings, but the rest was either donated or tossed in the dumpster. In the very few weeks between moving out of my apartment and waiting for The Boy to return I moved in with my parents. I unpacked my clothes but the rest was patiently waiting in boxes in the garage.
I had found out I was pregnant about a week before officially moving out of my apartment. Because I was uninsured I needed to find insurance asap and get to the doctor. Originally our plan had been to get married when The Boy returned so I would be entitled to his benefits, but during his visit home for Christmas he had encouraged me to get my own insurance and explained to me that he wasn’t sure he wanted to get married as soon as he returned. Especially since he still had the option to seek active duty and possibly get shipped over seas. I would have seen that as a red flag if we hadn’t gone back and forth so many times on marriage during the course of our relationship. It came up frequently, and we had talked about it many times, even picked a date, place, and I had picked out a dress and began to pay for it. Each time we discussed it the conversations were getting more detailed and serious, so I assumed that we were still moving toward it however slowly. There were a lot of other outside circumstances contributing to the Boy’s wishy washy feelings on the matter, and I was trying to be patient and understanding. I don’t think I really succeeded in that endeavor, but I was at least making an effort.
I couldn’t find a picture of the dress from Fall 2007, but this is very similar. Because I’m an odd ball the dress itself was a shade of pale lavender, with a cream colored sash. I had been squirreling away money at every opportunity in hopes of purchasing this $3k dress. The money I put aside came in very handy when our relationship ended and I needed to find a place to live and buy furniture.
A few days after moving in with my parents I did find a job. The pay was substantially less that what I had been making, but with the part time hours I was more than flexible to find a second job to make up the difference. It was about fifteen minutes away from the apartments we had looked at, and it was something new I’d never done before. I enjoyed the job very much, but was unable to keep it after enduring the shock of losing my baby and my boyfriend.
Oh the shock. That was worse than anything else that happened in those first few days afterwards. I lay curled up in my bed one hundred percent catatonic. I didn’t move, sleep, shower, eat, speak, anything aside from cry off and on for three days. It was to the point where my parents almost took me to the hospital. I was eventually able to sleep after I opened a box and found a shirt the Boy had left behind. It hadn’t been washed and had lingering notes of his cologne. I picked it up out of the box and almost immediately collapsed onto the floor. One good hard cry later, and I was asleep. There in the middle of my bedroom floor, clutching that shirt as if my life depended on it, which looking back on it now it probably did.
After I woke up who knows how long later, I was able to pull myself together. It was still very hard to speak to anyone about anything, and while I forced food down my appetite was completely gone. I did clean myself up, and start getting out of the house. I drove. Everywhere and nowhere at once. Hours and hours I spent driving all over the place. I didn’t know what else to do. I felt so helpless and lost. I had lost the job it took so long to find by not reporting to work the three days I was in shock. When I called to explain the circumstances they were understanding, but I didn’t want to continue my employment there if for nothing else, the fact that it reminded me of him and the plans of our life together.
The next few weeks and months were pretty much a blur. I did the absolute worst thing some one could do after experiencing a life changing event and isolated myself by moving out of state, completely setting back my recovery process. Making it even worse was my undiagnosed PTSD. I was trapped in my trauma cycle. Even the slightest thing would set me off, everyone and everything was a threat and I reacted accordingly. There were a few people whom I connected with who eventually became my closest friends, mostly though I was on my own. The Boy and I continued to talk off and on until May, which I don’t want to say was a bad thing in my healing process, but it probably wasn’t the best choice if only for all of the grief caused by the ensuing drama. He had decided to end our communication several times before the final ultimatum, but then called me a few weeks later each time, apologizing and claiming that he missed me. I assumed the conversation we had in May was the same, so because we had planned to get together and celebrate my 21st birthday and I was just sort of figuring out the whole cyberspace world I contacted him a few times. I wasn’t intentionally trying to cause problems, I just wanted to see if he was going to meet me or not so I could give him directions and set up a time. It was innocent, and if he hadn’t replied I would have accepted his decision and left him alone.
Instead, I got several heated messages from his new girlfriend. Completely misunderstanding my intentions behind contacting him. I was angry at her assumptions and accusations especially considering the circumstances of their meeting which The Boy told me not once, but twice. He explained the details to me in a confession/apology during Christmas Break, and then again after we parted ways. His story changed a little, so I didn’t immediately correlate the girl he confessed to sleeping with, as the same girl whom he left me for. After I put the pieces together, all bets were off. All of my anger and rage came out at her. It was inappropriate, but at the time I felt entitled to speak my mind regarding the entire mess. I shouldn’t have. I should have just walked away because even now six years later we are all still dealing with the fall out. In essence we are still “breaking up” even though we have only spoken a handful of times since 2008, we’re both married and have kids. The drama just will not stop.
For a long time I took a lot of the responsibility because of the way things had happened both in the terms of my anger and lashing out at his girlfriend and also for an earlier incident in April 2008. The Boy and I had spent the evening together while I was visiting my parents. One thing lead to another and we ended up in a motel room. We both regretted it almost immediately afterwards, but in the heat of the moment it felt completely right. He didn’t stay with me, but the next day I called him a complete mess with guilt. I was more confused than anything. I didn’t yet understand how he could leave me, but still want to be with me. He tried to explain, but I honestly don’t think he really understood it completely himself making it that much more confusing for me. After we hung up I poured my heart out into a very long letter. I explained to him that he needed to make a choice. It wasn’t fair to myself or his new girlfriend that he was stuck between us. I would respect his decision after he finally made it, but I needed to know. I couldn’t keep going back and forth. Of course having every intention of respecting his decision and actually being able to respect it once the final call came telling me that he chose her was a different matter. It hurt all over again, but I was glad to know. That alone should have made me realize the ultimatum was going to stick, but I guess I wasn’t as ready to accept it as I thought. Regardless, the acceptance did come around quite quickly actually. I was still curious about our plans for my birthday, but after I sent two quick notes I stayed away from my computer for several days. The next time I logged in I was met with the letters from his girlfriend. Reopening the wounds yet AGAIN.
And that’s how it’s been from our final confrontation in 2008 until now. I will pick up the pieces, get everything together and out of the blue an email, or phone call, comment, or spike in my stats here will stir up everything all over again. Granted we did have a nice period with out any direct contact for a few years. My blog stats would spike every once and a while, but nothing was said between us. Then two years ago, Yahoo Mail ruined everything. Well I guess it didn’t actually ruin anything, because it lead me to my diagnosis and the chance to really apologize and make amends with the Boy, but it did stir everything up and start a massive shit load of drama which is still going on.
I don’t know what else to say. I don’t know what else to do. I guess really the only thing I can do is accept it. Accept the fact that anything even remotely relating to the Boy will always be dramatic whether it’s my intention or not. I read it as a primary trigger for my PTSD, but that’s not the case. It’s not him or anything that happened between us that triggers me. In fact I’m not truly triggered by any of it. I’m still LIVING it. Each and every time I set foot into Southern Ohio, or put my fingers to these keys to write my anxiety goes into over drive. Why? Because the drama is lingering like a vulture just waiting for the correct opportunity to strike. It seeps into every aspect of my life.
I am broken again, but this time instead of tears I feel nothing. Absolutely nothing.