Thursday, February 21, 2008

April 1996 to February 2008

Farewell my long-suffering stripy friend.

Wednesday, February 20, 2008


what are the chances that S's brother and his wife would name their newborn baby girl the same very unusual name as my long dead sister.

I'm not close to them, so as far as I know they're not aware I have a dead sister.

I hadn't thought about her in a long time until this morning when we heard about the new baby.

I never really knew my two half sisters. my mother wouldn't allow it.

"I don't want my girls growing up like you!"

She should have been more careful what she wished for.

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

small and still and undisturbed. its what i want. and what i'm afraid of. wanting because of the absolution that's bound to it. turn down the lights, muffle invading sounds. be still. and inside. and quiet. trying to find a way to let go without letting go. to be able to achieve distance from the outside for the hours i have to myself. lose the time that's mine to lose. now that i've walked away from my job i have three whole days to indulge myself. with solitude. not solitude. a kind of comforting vacuum.
but the show must go on. P has to be taken to nursery. Adult conversations must be had. dinner made. dog walked. How much of the outside function can i maintain while secretly willing myself further and further away.
the longer i leave it, the harder it is to get back. one day without brushing my teeth, two days without washing my hair. deliberately not taking the meds in case they strengthen my fingernail grip. stop me from disappearing. but not committing, medicating intermittently. enough for " and how was your day?" and putting on clothes. enough to take P to the park with a neighbour. enough to take the cat and talk to the vet. joke even. enough to give S a plausible account of a productive day. so he doesn't despise my sloth. seek pastures greener. again.
outside is jagged edges and piercing sounds. clumsy intrusions. it's too bright, too loud. too personal. abrasive. other. too much.
so few tools to challenge myself to consider the inevitable conclusion. yet here i am. what would happen if i disappeared completely. i've backspaced over that line twice. can't answer my own question. except I can. i know i've felt this way before. i know i've lived through it. i remember this feeling - that S is a great father and that there's lots of people who love P. that the clouds would soon pass. how ridiculous. how indulgent i sound. such melodrama. how pathetic.

Tuesday, February 05, 2008

yes, I know that it was technically barely more than a bunch of cells, and that this really is natures quality control measure, and that one in four pregnancies ends in miscarriage, and that my ovaries and uterus look perfectly normal, and that there's no reason I shouldn't go on to have a successful pregnancy. yes. I get it. thankyou.

But another pregnancy is another baby.

I wanted the baby I had. The one we made in the peaceful house in the sand dunes. Where we woke each morning to an incredible sunrise. Where we walked for miles on white sand without seeing another soul. Where we made plans. Where he stepped up. Suggested adventures. Looked forward. Became alive.

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