Last night I shed my jammies & dragged my sister out on a school night. We headed west to catch Kiri Pritchard McLean at The Stand.
I’m a big fan of Kiri’s (Rachel Fairburn’s) podcast, All Killa No Filla. I’ve also seen her in various tv shows, plus bits & pieces at the Fringe. I knew she was funny & cool, but I had never seen her perform her own show. I’m so bloody glad I bagged tickets for Victim, Complex because it’s incredible. Stand up shows that make you cry are kind of my thing and Kiri may be my new queen.
Everything about Victim, Complex is perfect. Kiri’s bright yellow, sequinned adorned person dominates the stage. She welcomes the audience into dark experiences with much hilarity and stunning vulnerability. It is powerful to watch someone take control of their painful truth.
Gaslighting & mental illness probably don’t seem like natural stand up material, but it works. It’s definitely an emotional hour. The laugh out loud moments far number the tears. It’s an uproariously relatable show; packed with filth, a plot twist & the wisdom of that drunk girl we’ve all met in a club toilet. It’s all underlined by an important & empowering message.
My body is properly punishing me for daring to leave the house, but it was absolutely worth it. That’s pretty much the best review a show can get. If Pritchard McLean is playing anywhere near you, buy a ticket.
And if that wasn’t enough to convince you, there’s a free badge!
I knew Mother’s Day was going to be tough this year. Since I always over think every little thing, I did spend some time dwelling on that in the run up to Sunday. Occasionally my inability to switch my thoughts off serves me well, this was just such an instance.
It didn’t change how sad I felt, but I did stumble upon a new strategy. Simply put, I’m going to try my damnedest to have more fun. My life is not really all that easy (who’s is?). There’s a lot of pain, exhaustion, stress & large scale disappointment. None of which I can control. I’ve had to make some huge adjustments in my life expectations this year and that is, well, a process. I can’t change the fundamentals of my situation. I can let go a little bit. I can allow myself to please just me more of the time and I am going to.
I’m going to date. For fun, god help me. I’m not seeking a soul mate or partner. The aim is merely to find some amusing people I can do enjoyable things with. Hopefully without anyone making too many demands. I’m reviewing all my filed away lists of things I’ve always wanted to do and bloody well jumping on anything that is actually doable. Efforts will be made to ditch the guilt. I’m going to say more no’s to the things I do for the benefits of others that cut me in two. Plus a lot more yes’s to anything & everything that makes me feel good. To hell with the rules or convention. Life is going to fuck me regardless, I might as well squeeze as out as much glee as I can along the way.
With that in mind I began my week with a jaunt to Edinburgh to see my favourite man. Friends who will let you say anything and always leave you feeling better than they found you are magnificent. So, I soaked up too many glasses wine & just enough of his loveliness to give me a major boost. I followed up with the an almost perfect day at the farm. Watching my baby nephew discover the world is a truly beautiful experience. The tiny goats were also worth the trip.
I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck now. It’s going to take some recovery days to get back to ‘normal’. My ratio of doing to resting isn’t what I’d hope for. I’m giving myself permission to use some of those good days for pure frivolity.
Last week I tried to cheer myself up with a change of scene and mini treats. I had a little work in Edinburgh, so I booked a hotel and mixed business with some pleasure.
I received an exciting offer that included a photo shoot. I wasn’t sure I was up to doing a big scary thing, but pushing myself was a good idea. I definitely needed a reminder that other people recognise my talents. Work aside I took the opportunity to see a couple of my Edinburgh people whilst I was through. I spent an evening each with a couple of my favourite men and even got a tad drunkity two nights in a row. I rarely do much past 6pm these days. It was bloody lovely to get dressed up and have some adult fun. Cocktails & carry on was the perfect distraction.
It was also amazing to relax. Stepping away from my day to day life made it possible for me to temporarily shut off the falling apart portion of my mind. Crisp white sheets, starting my day with a swim and a yummy breakfast (that I didn’t have to make) all did me good.
Back in reality I tried to not to kill off my sapling of good cheer. I took my baby nephew swimming, it’s almost impossible not to feel good around that boy. I’ve taught him to say LaLa, what I what I called myself before I could say my name. Believe mewhen I tell you, my heart skips a beat every time he utters those two syllables. I bought myself beautiful flowers and delicious smelling candles. Ruffled the feathers of fuckwits with my radical accessories. Then indulged in some soppy, feel good films, tried Greggs’ yummy vegan sausage roll and attempted to not to stress about the mountain of tasks I didn’t conquer. It’s the little things in life, right?
My first non medical related outing in a while coincided with the emergence of spring (I hope I haven’t jinxed it). I took the opportunity of not having to wear winter gear to spruce myself up a tiny bit.
Bright, fresh Sunday mornings are perfect for record shop trawling. I really had no idea how much pleasure getting record player would bring me. Not in a wanky, the sound is amazing way. Although it does sound nice; the delight for me is trawling through old records hoping to find a gem. So far, I almost always do. I used to frequent Missing Records in my teens/early twenties when I had very little money, but a huge desire to play cool music at top volume. In the intervening years we’ve all stopped buying physical music. The resurgence of vinyl has changed that & reunited me with a lost love. Missing has changed locations, but it feels the same. I had forgotten how much I enjoy this kind of music shop. I am so happy to be getting reacquainted.
This weekend I managed to find a few classics plus some super sentimental and fairly odd choices. I’m going to blame my Granda for Brotherhood of Man. I simply can’t hear Save Your Kisses For Me without being flooded with childhood memories.
The rest of the day was spent vying with my mum and sister for all the baba’s cuddles. I was aided in my attempts to gain his affections by the shark on my t shirt. The boy is a big fan of ‘Baby Shark’ & instantly recognised the toothy creature. He then seized upon a new game in which he would point urgently at the shark & I would sing the song. It’s just as well I adore him because that song gets old pretty quick.
T- Shirt – Gift
Skirt – Lindy Bop
Cardi – Asos
Tights – Snag
My clever little man thought the stripey orange cats on my skirt looked like tigers, so we also got a chorus of roars throughout the day. All of which goes to show that dressing in my demented fashion is a very good idea.
I’m angry. So angry that it’s hard to contain. The problem is there’s no specific target for my rage. It’s a generalised, tear everything down kind of fury. There’s no release. I can’t spew my anger over unsuspecting bystanders. Keeping it in doesn’t feel like a viable solution either. Where does one put all the free floating resentment that no one is actually to blame for?
Life isn’t fair. I came to terms with that fact a long time ago. I’ve accepted a lot of bullshit. Fought crazy & illness & disability & mistreatment & loss to build some sort of something. I’ve struggled, but I’ve rolled with the punches as best I could. There’s only ever been one thing that I’ve felt I couldn’t do without. One single imperative. When you’re willing to get by without so many things, it feels so desperately unfair to be denied the thing that would make it all ok.
I watch everyone around me do the thing I cannot. Some with such ease it leaves me breathless. For others it’s a harder journey, but they reach their destination. I love those people and I love their babies, but it’s so hard to be the only one stranded.
I’m angry that I have to do this again. I’ve been tricked into hoping. Now I have to deal with the fall out. I am mad at myself for being stupid enough to believe. I resent having to submit to medical interventions. I didn’t ever want to hear someone say they can’t find a heartbeat again or look at another bloody speculum. I’m furious that I’m still bleeding and that I have to cope with all that triggers. It’s agony to be constantly reminded that my body has failed again. It’s exhausting to face the nightmares and flashbacks of all other blood. I don’t want to relive each of the worst moments of my life whilst trying to get through this one. I’m sick of blood tests and transfusions and putting on a brave face. I hate that I don’t get to opt out. I’m not strong, I just don’t have option of walking away because it’s too hard.
I don’t understand why it has to be me. Why my babies keep dying when I want them so much. Why does the universe give life to those who can’t or won’t love their children? Every time I read a horror story of abuse it feels like a personal attack. I think of all those terrified pregnant teens, the adult women who can’t feed another mouth or just never wanted to parent and I wonder why it couldn’t be me instead. I’m not angry at the individuals; everyone should have the right to choose. I’m furious at whoever or whatever makes decisions. What could I possibly have done that disqualifies me?
I see people smoking as they hold their child and I have to restrain my scream. Each impatient, inappropriate or lazy exchange between a parent & child kills me. Even the standard complaints about bring tired and tantrums make me feel like punching someone. I know I’m not being fair, but it’s like bitching about your diet to the starving. Don’t they know what a miracle they’ve created? How can they forget how much that little person needs them to do the right thing. I know it isn’t easy. Kids are exhausting and all consuming, but they’re worth it. The joy outweighs the sacrifice.
I’ve had enough therapy to know that burying your feelings is never helpful. I know I can’t dig a deep enough hole for this much emotion, but I have no idea where else to put it. I can’t lose it with every person who is rude or mildly inconveniences me. I have no desire or intention of venting on the people I love. I used to work this shit out with a scalpel. That’s no longer an option. What do I do?
2019 has barely gotten going & it’s been rough already. In a matter of weeks I have lost my baby & my boyfriend, which is less than an auspicious beginning. If I sound flippant, I’m not, I’m just trying very hard to put one foot in front of the other.
The demise of my pregnancy is devastating. My relationship’s end is sad, but the right decision and that’s about all I have to say on the topic. I find myself approaching the year (and my life) alone again. Being single hasn’t ever worried me all that much. I’m definitely not scared to be that kind of alone. Childlessness on the other hand, terrifies me. What do you when you’re facing your biggest fear? I haven’t a fucking a clue.
For the time being I have taken the clichéd approach of one day at a time. I’m trying not to spend every day at home in my jammies (there is however a lot of crying on the sofa). Functioning is a struggle for a multitude of reasons. Primarily, I am exhausted. I’m always tired. Add even less sleep, the effort it takes to contain my anger at life itself, the fact that I will not stop bleeding, so despite the blood transfusion my haemoglobin level continues to flag and you get extreme fatigue. Having a different emotion every 5 seconds is tiring. Battling (& often failing) to contain the tears is wearing. Breathing & washing & conversing & not screaming is all taking gargantuan effort. The truth is I’m not managing very much. I’m practising being ok with that.
I recommend spending time with people who don’t expect too much of you. I’m giving priority to anything that give me comfort; my little people & potatoes pretty much have that covered. Hot baths have featured heavily as has ‘fake it ’til you make it’ make up. There was one afternoon of day drinking with a lovely friend that actually helped a lot, but not something it would be wise to make a habit of. My purring cat is a godsend. I’m reading, sleeping whenever I can and endeavouring to be gentle with myself.
I have no clue how to tackle the overwhelming sense of guilt. Chipping away at how ‘not fair’ this is may well take the rest of my life. I’m focusing on the small stuff. Giving myself a pass on the growing mountain of washing, the ideas that go unpitched and being awfully rude to the person who called about my non-existent road traffic accident. I find it harder than you’d imagine to let that stuff go. Being hard on myself comes easy. i have learned that when life gets you on the ground it’s worth tackling the instinct to kick oneself whilst already down.
I feel stupid. There’s a voice in my head screaming, of course this is how it ends. I always had this outcome looming over me. And yet, a little bit of me believed. Or almost did. I couldn’t quite dampen the excitement. That rhythmic thud caused an inextinguishable spark.
I did have reason to hope. Everything looked good. Measured up right. I felt different. So many things I hadn’t experienced before. Surely all the different symptoms could point to a different ending? I thought that might be a reasonable conclusion to draw. I was wrong.
I feel everything and nothing at once. I should know exactly how to do this, but I cannot comprehend how to navigate this path again. Now there’s the agony and the blood and after that there is just nihility. A black hole waiting to swallow me up.
Can I fill another void? Pick myself up. Pretend I’m whole. I don’t know how to scrub from my mind the image of another lifeless fragment of me. I will never decipher how I reconcile all the guilt and death with getting up each day and living my life.