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The weird and wonderful world of expressing yourself

18 Dec

I’ve always considered myself an artist. I know that sounds pretentious, but I have. Up until a few years ago I’d used painting, writing and video to basically “puke” up all of the messed up crap that I went through in life. I’ve had some loss, and some tragedy and I used to use art to work through it. but some stuff happened to me a few years back that sort of clogged all of that up.

I won’t go on a long rant about what happened, but the bottom line is that the second I started turning my art form (film, in this case) into my chosen career (or at least attempting to do that), that art was no longer an outlet for me. In fact, it wasn’t really art anymore.  And, somewhere along the way, things got even worse.

I stopped telling people things. As in – important things

It wasn’t all the time mind you. I still spoke to friends about dilemmas, sadness, and crisis…

But some things basically remained unsaid. And those were the worst and darkest things. I was afraid to say them out loud. I was afraid because I thought that just the act of saying them would bring on a panic attack. Just saying them would literally kill me.

I was never a big supporter of pills but now I totally understand why they do help. Why sometimes, they are the only way a person can finally “puke” all of their crap out into the open.

It may be cliche’, but at the end of the day – admitting your pain, and having it acknowledged by those around you really can be the beginning of making things better.

And if you’re so overwhelmed by panic and fear that you can’t say it out loud – well, then it eats at you. It can destroy you from the inside-out.

Today I met up with my best friend. I hadn’t seen her for a while because, well, she’s an incredibly wonderful and incredibly busy person who works full time to put herself through school. I don’t know how she finds the strength to work as hard as she does at everything she does and I adore her for it – but that discussion is for another time.

So after a rather long and deep conversation i finally said something out loud:

I lost two babies.

she immediately started to counter the usual “comfort” in this situation: ” well, they weren’t really…”

I cut her off. I know she meant well, but still.

I lost two babies.

It doesn’t matter if the first wasn’t really a fetus -just an empty sac. It doesn’t matter that the second didn’t make it past the 6 week mark.

For me – they were babies. No matter what medicine and science say. They were babies.

The moment you find out you’re pregnant, no matter how much trepidation you have, you start building a fantasy. the Labor, the nighttime feedings, the name. the color of his or her hair. Their smell.

I would find myself putting my hand on my stomach and talking to both of them quietly, when no one was looking. And they were both  girls, by the way.

With baby girl 1 the first time we spoke was when I was out walking the dog. I started thinking about how our little puppy would adjust to having a new little sister. It was really a beautiful breezy night out and I was feeling incredibly content. I stopped, looked up at the sky – and took a deep breath. I put my hand on my stomach and said: I love you. I want you to know that I already love you.

No matter what the doctors say. No matter what science says. for me I had two little girls. And I loved them both.

You know, I don’t consider myself a spiritual person. I’m pretty much a skeptic when it comes to well – everything.

But at times, I can’t help but think that both of them were actually the same girl. She popped in for a while – you know – to see if I was ready to welcome her. To see if she was ready to take on the challenge of being my daughter. She had a look around, and saw quite a bit of chaos.

She hung around for a bit – just to see if maybe she just happened to pop in on the wrong day.

And then, after a while she said to herself “Nope – not yet”. And she decided she would wait just a little bit longer.

On days when I feel optimistic I think to myself: I have to prove it to her. I have to make everything perfect so that the next time she comes, she will decide that it’s time to stick around and let me raise her and love her.

Well – maybe not everything needs to be perfect. But things definitely need to be calm. and mostly on the inside.

Panic attacks did not start with the first or second miscarriage. I have been broken for a very long time. Now it’s time I start fixing things, so it’s time I say things out loud. things I have always been afraid of saying those things that scare me the most. And maybe finally having the ability to say them will help the storm inside me clear just enough so that when my baby comes back in to visit, she will decide to stay.

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One Response to “The weird and wonderful world of expressing yourself”

  1. Me December 21, 2010 at 03:30 #

    I have absolutely no choice but to take a breather, but before I do I have to say first and foremost- this is amazing. Unstoppable. Happy this stuff is being written on so many levels.

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