thoughts (on Xanax) about baby and cervix

I cannot sleep. I forgot to buy sleeping pills when I was out and tried to go to sleep on my own and I think I could, but all these horrible thoughts come.

I was fine all day, with distractions, but I miss my baby and I feel a lot of guilt. I know it's not to be hard on myself, but I keep seeing scenes and replaying everything. That whole moment I wish was in reverse. I guess I've written about all the graphic details, even bodily function stuff, because maybe someone else out there can take comfort, wisdom, or relate from it.

I feel a deep anguish but I can't cry. It's gone deeper than that. I've cried already and had the mood swings, and now it's all going to be fine, but I do blame myself. I question a couple of things that were done, but I take responsibility.

I couldn't look at the sonogram afterwards, except to see the head for a moment and I saw it was beautiful and looked mature. Even so tiny. I will get copies of the photos or CD and keep it and someday watch it, but I can't bear to now.

I feel the cervix myself and it's still closed, but as of yesterday, it developed bumps around the edge. It wasn't like this before, because I would check, because of the water gushing, and then after the ER trip, to see if the cervix was opening at all. There is no change except that the PH balance is different now, and there is hardly any discharge and it's like regular pre-pregnancy discharge and scent. It has a different scent when you're pregnant and that has to do with alkalinity. And then, the bumps around the side, which make me think of blisters as if I burned my cervix up in the MRI, which sounds ridiculous, but I don't know what it's from and it just developed one day ago and wasn't that way before. Maybe things are just breaking down. But this isn't going to happen fast. At all.

I know the bumps aren't an STD or from anything like that, because they weren't there until a couple of days ago, and I haven't had sex with anyone since one week after I conceived (with the father of the baby). That was 3 months ago, and they tested me for STDs, and I didn't have any. The bumps are new and slightly larger. It's like a bumpy surface on one side of the cervix. The other sides are smooth.

I didn't want to take a Xanax, because I think, at the last moment, maybe for some crazy reason, the heartbeat started again, but the other signs show evidence it's gone. I have to go with the evidence, not what I want.

I can tell I've lost weight by my collarbones. I'm eating, but not as much, and I let myself go hungry sometimes. I mean, not starving hungry, but where I would have eaten before, for the baby, I don't eat.

I have made some progress in getting a few things done, and hopefully tomorrow will be a more productive day. I want my son back, but just as this baby didn't alleviate the suffering I felt over my son, my son doesn't fill in for this baby either. I feel and view them, and loved them even, as separate and unique individuals. And I don't care what some might say about it being too early or small--a real mother can bond with her children, from the moment she shows they exist. I have always had that ability.

I didn't know how I was going to accomplish things, and exactly what I was going to do next, but I would have found a way, and I was determined to make it work. Where there is a will there is a way.

I could just forget about it and ignore everything and put it far in the back of my mind, but when you do that, it only pops up again later. I believe in processing things at the moment, fully, no matter how difficult it is, because not doing so, sets you up for later. Research even shows this to be true, especially for men, because they tend to push things aside, and then when they feel the pain and it settles on them, it's later, and it's more difficult. Men tend not to deal with the pain at the moment, for a varity of reasons, some probably social and otherwise, maybe thinking ignoring it is the best way to handle things. But men feel pain as strongly, or moreso, and it hits them later, the greiving. I'm not saying the father is grieving, because he didn't have a chance to really bond, and he didn't want the baby anyway, but I'm speaking of men in general. It wasn't my mother who carried a photo of her first son (who died 3 days later) around with her--it was my father. He kept it in a drawer where he probably saw it everyday, for years. I remember seeing it there when I was even 11 or 13 years old. A little black and white and they say he had flaxen blond hair and blue eyes. Well, probably would have stayed blue, because it's in the family, but the hair was very shocking white flaxen blond. His name was Gannon. I guess it's Irish-Gaelic.

I know I can move on and I'm not breaking down from this, but I am very upset still, and grieving in my own way. Writing is therapeutic for me. So I'm writing a ton and distracting myself with music. Tomorrow I'm going to focus on maybe trying some creative writing and images, but I really do not feel inspired at all. I didn't like my last poem very much. Parts of it I could see vividly, and the other parts, were shrouded and I was sort of making up as I went along. When it comes naturally, I don't even think about it. It flows out of me and I hardly know what I am going to put down next, and then I look back and wonder how in the world it all makes sense.

One poem I really connect with emotionally, is the one about the clover field and the bees and the horse. I don't know why, because it's so fragmented, but there is something there that was meant to be written for someone out there. I feel a very deep sense of reality and almost come to tears now and then, reading it. I feel it belongs to someone I don't know. I don't really feel it is for me, that one, but maybe in my own subconscious way I relate to it.

I guess I'll try one image before I go to sleep:

i made a beanbag out of seeds from a tree, the pods,
i sewed it by hand, and made one for my brother too.
i made floral sachets for my mother, crumbling rose leaves and lavendar,
i my father more comfortable for his nap, pulling a blanket over him and tucking him in, noticing he wasn't fully asleep when he smiled, eyes closed.
i gave the dogs my scraps of food, and made sure they were petted
i knew when my kitten had died before i was told, and burst into tears, telling my parents i knew, and i could not be consoled, taking a clipping of my kitten's fur and saving it in a box--my father visiting me at school and bringing me a poster with a kitten that said: when God closes one door, He opens another.
i sang my playmates to sleep in our treehouse. they said, "sing, sing us some songs" and I sang to the other children in my treehouse and at summer camps, where they would fall asleep to songs I made up in a soft voice.
i carried letters to the oldest man in the neighborhood and visited him to hear stories of the pioneering days, after i first tried to swindle him out of money, lying that there was a fundraiser at school, and then feeling guilty for taking his money and giving it back to him, crying and confessing. he made me his friend. morgan dupree.
i slid down the slippery slide hoping to catch the attention of a young man when i had no breasts and looked 10 instead of 14. i made forts in the woods and in the fields, using horse troughs for mangers and creating secret codes for the girls, who were on the look-out for the boys. all we did was run around hiding from one place to the other, trying not to be seen, and hoping to get inside the other fort and steal secrets.
i handmade little dresses for my barbie dolls, and wrapped myself in huge swaths of cloth from the fabric box, tying outfits together with pins and grecian drapes. i was a goddess.
i stared out into the horizon, singing meloncholy songs and watching the sun go down, pink and purple sky
all i wanted was to be a mother, a wife, and maybe a teacher, a singer, and a writer. most of all i wanted to be a wife and mother of many children. i didn't know then, my personality would make this difficult for me to find the right one, or for the right one to find me. i refused to put up posters of teenage idols because i thought it was stupid ("you're never going to meet them"). i thought, at age 12, "i'm never going to marry" even though i wanted to be wrong, but i was never in the right place and i was also looked down upon because of lack of education.
i took the lead on hikes, and didn't walk behind my dates, and they didn't like it. i just wanted to get to the top fast and then take a look around. why dally? i wasn't interested in holding their hand and ducking into the woods. i raced around the ice-skating rink when my irish east coast boyfriend wanted to hold my hand and skate around and talk. i wanted to race. it felt exhilirating. i had the time of my life, without him, leaving him behind as i lapped him, not out of competition, but because it was simply fun.
i rescued all the stray animals and brought them home until we found other homes for them. i always noticed the wandering dog who was confused and missing it's owner, having been dumped. skittish and afraid, and hoping each car passing would be one with their old friend. i coaxed them into my car and found them a home.
i didn't know i would have so many enemies. i thought everyone was good, and kind, and didn't know why anyone would be jealous of me.
it's not what you do, but who you are, and this has been developed, but people cannot accept me for who i am, unless i am doing something that has status.
i was assumed to be an underacheiver and gifted, and i made others angry who said i wasn't better than they were. i once made a good friend cry by ralling school friends against her when i was slighted. i made her pay, and she cried, and then i felt guilty and ammended. the same friend who shared kumquats with me under the large oak tree on the playground--the doctor's daughter--others were playing hopscotch and we were talking about God and spirits in the trees. she went to cornell, i went to community college, after a series of odd jobs going nowhere. taking in everything, on the lookout for a best friend, and finding my very best friends are very few, but still support me.
i feel black and blue ad green and i have a tartan and a diluted but well-recorded pedigree of strong ancestors. they must have all been martyrs i think, to have married and inbred such a martyrdom in me. right or wrong, i'm not always right, but i know i am able to assess and am acute.
no one practices witchcraft or fortune telling, in my whole family, but there have
been phrophesies and insights. i felt a destiny from a young age. i knew i was special and that something was in store for me, but i held it quietly, and didn't ever think it would be fame or fortune. i just knew i was going to be used for a cause, and i prayed for wisdom. when i was 13 i prayed for this. god give me wisdom. it said, you could pray for whatever you wanted, and it might be received, and i chose this one.
now i am older and broken and my body is battered and i've been beaten down and have had two children torn from me, but i know, even when i curse and pray others will suffer for doing this to us, i know my God is an awesome God. i would not have made it without that foundation and strength, knowing he cares about the little things, even if we don't always see this. we help ourselves, and don't wait for things to happen, but we know there are miracles of insight, and we count our blessings.
wayne freeman said of me, when i was 8, "if you don't become a star someday, i will be surprised!" he wrote this on my program for a play i was in. "who cares what you're wearing, on mainstreet, or saville row, it's what you wear from ear to ear, and not from head to toe..." i sang then.
i petitioned the director to remove the profanity from the script and organized other children to chime in with me.
i danced with a man who worked in broadway shows, and it was my first dance. i was 8. i see nothing before me and everything behind me.
my plans did not follow the script.
my family bragged about me in plays and musicals, but proclaim their daughter had a head injury when she does what she wants, and writes what she wants, even though they do not like it. is it becoming for a mother?
i am not your average mother. i am a woman with a full identity and purpose, and i am also fully a mother and they are not mutually exclusive.
i bring joy to my son and he will not be ashamed of me, but proud.
i am proud of all my children, even those which are yet unborn.
i am the same girl now as i was then, and feel the same, and my core is unchanged.
i have only grown older and learned to put on the armor. i have adapted and i have rebelled, and i am proud of my progress as a human being.
i want every writer to feel free, not to defame, but to proclaim their opinions as opinion freely, and to align the facts to the truth.

truth. i made a design for the concept of it, in graphic arts class. we had to choose one word and one symbol, and I chose "truth" and an arrow head.

may the truth set you free.
(this wasn't an image at all, just a proclamation i guess, or reminder to myself of who i am)