Friday, 4 September 2015

Learning To Walk Again.

I'm safe in the library.

There's a baby crying so loud - I don't mind that the baby is crying in a library, that baby's allowed to cry wherever it wants to cry. But it's crying really, really loudly and has been for some time. It's disturbing the hell out of me because the sound of a baby crying reminds me of Rocco when he was a baby and he cried for about a year? I tried everything - reflux drops, soothing, singing, putting him in a sling, bathing him, sitting him up, laying him down, pushing him a pram, driving him in the car, repeatedly taking him to the doctor, cuddling him in my bed by myself while his dad was upstairs throwing up from chemo, buying a goddamn jolly jumper which made him vomit and his feet slid around in the vomit so I had to wipe his tears, my tears, and the vomit.

Max was six years old when Rocco was born. Max was not a crier as a baby. One night we were forlornly sitting down to dinner. Rocco was crying and sweet Max said:

"Mum, are you just going to let the baby cry forever?"

I couldn't handle the crying anymore. I could not handle it and had to walk away, out of his room, out of the house, many, many times. Sometimes I'd put my iPod on while I made dinner to drown out the crying. Once I fled from the house crying so hard because he was crying so hard and I couldn't fix it and I didn't want to have a crying baby anymore and a mother is not supposed to THINK shit like that especially when she does IVF to get said crying baby. I was ten years clean and sober taking a crying newborn to recovery meetings but I always had to apologise and leave because of the crying. My friend Anna in Canada once emailed me at the time .. "Maybe .. he's doing the crying for all of you?"

I wonder where all the undiagnosed post-natal depression goes to die when your baby grows up?

Rocco's dad didn't die. I started to internally collapse, relapse after ten solid years recovery. I was so, so strong. Until I wasn't. Held it together ever since, until my stepdad died and then my brother and then wow. I relapsed again just two weeks before Cam killed himself. I thought maybe I should tell him to prove I'm just as fucked up as him and we're all fucked up. I chose not to tell him in case he stopped burdening me with his burdens and what would happen then?

I always swore I'd never relapse again, to honour my brother. I swear to never swear again. Addiction and mental health issues do NOT mix. Do NOT try this at home. But doesn't it make perfect sense that people use drugs and alcohol to mask, cover, erase their pain? I tell teenagers only one piece of advice about taking drugs: "If you're taking drugs to fill a hole in you .. if you're starting to need to drink or take drugs to get through the days, to numb yourself and think it fixes your problems - there's a problem. Monitor yourselves. Be careful. Be safe."

Jesus that baby is still crying I'm now listening to Foo Fighters in my headphones hopefully the lady next to me won't get annoyed and this was NOT the blog post I had intended to write why does this always happen. I meant to keep it light and succinct here today ffs.

All I was going to do was steer you into the direction of this exquisite piece by Chris Guillebeau about the suicide of his brother Ken. It's called Let The Wave Crash Over You.

Then show you BabyMac showing you me eating a custard tart and quoting Pulp Fiction this morning in her honour.

But now I better use my computer for mad work skillz instead of lying in the sun. (I'm lying. It's not sunny.)

Megan says I post too many selfies I don't know what she's incinerating ... I've been taking photos of myself WAY before the word selfie was even invented. Because who else will?

STILL not a hair blogger #slick

Here's a little Dave Grohl to get you through the weekend, worth watching for the clip alone. It's my anthem lately .. those lyrics.

(I keep singing it to Cam when nobody else is around because that's not weird at all.)

The baby has stopped crying! I am so relieved on the mother's behalf.

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Write to be understood, speak to be heard. - Lawrence Powell

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