Can you hear that sound?
It's the muffled sound of somebody censoring their own blog!
Fuck that. *Ahem*
I feel like shit, and have had an AWFUL first day to this year! Why can't I just be with my family down the beach? Why must I be so obstinate and stubborn? (But Dave started it!! Somebody call the wah-mbulance!)
Aftershocks of the year-that-was still ripple and affect us all. We are still trying to heal. I am not healed. I have forgiven God ... which is a great start. But for fucks sake (sorry, NancyGrayce!) I am bruised beyond belief.
I am ANGRY that the first six months of Roccos life have been so shit ... so terrifying. One chemo after another, bang bang bang. And now what - Dave's all better? Well what the FUCK was the point of it all? It's just stupid.
I did IVF to have Rocco. There are women out there, for whom infertility (and loss) marks their soul in ways unimaginable to me. I was lucky .. even though a LOT of angst and heartache was involved, I got pregnant. And stayed pregnant. People would have been jealous. Then Dave goes and grows stupid tumours, and people ... they weren't so jealous anymore.
I looked at a photo on my fridge today. It's a beautiful shot, of me holding Rocco in hospital while Max looks adoringly on. And I shuddered. Because I remember how I truly felt. And it was dark, and black. I am only now still playing catch-up, with the baby .... he's seven months old and I only just counted all his toes. Looked at him properly. Wanted to know who he is.
Sometimes our family is a seething swirl of emotions all over the place. Tim is reeling from stuff of his own. Dave is trying to claw his way back into the world. Max - he knows everything. So Dave and the boys are there and me and the baby are here and it makes me so sad, we couldn't all get our shit together to see in this new year.
It's 7.40pm and my friend Pixxie just made me laugh on Facebook, it's the first time I've laughed in two days.
I look around me, and I swear I feel like the only dysfunctional, fucked-up person on the planet. And I want to hide away and pretend I'm ok - but I'm not! I am not ok!
Last week I bumped into my old therapist. From hab. I told her I HAD to tell her .... I started a new blog and named it after her coffee mug, the one I used to look at every day in group - those painful, painful groups where she ripped me to shreds and I needed it so badly.
It feels so good, to see her in the street these days and she treats me like an equal. And tells me how great it is I got through the last year.
Life ... it's nothing like the brochure.
(And now ... paradoxically, I feel better ... after admitting how crap I really am. Strange).