not pregnant and yet continuing to gain weight DESPITE coming off fat inducing drugs in order to get pregnant. and therefore fat. but with a purpose. and an end date. an excuse for being fat.
see, i was pregnant. so i came off my meds. then i had to go straighten some things out with work and negotiate my new contract. but because i was pregnant and this would be the year that P was from 3 days of pre school to 5 days of big school, i thought i didn't want to be away from home so much. didn't want to be a hundred miles away and missing breakfast and dinner with her and especially didn't want to be travelling all those hours as the pregnancy advanced. so i gave up my job. my job that was half our household income. and a huge part of my identity. and my independence. and then i wasn't pregnant anymore. and then i went back on my meds. and then i came off them again because if i was goingto have another baby then sooner was infinitely better than later because i'm getting nearer to 40 and because the sooner i get pregnant, the sooner i won't be pregnant anymore and will able to take my meds again. and will be able to participate in the world. and go out of the house. if there are ever any clothes to fit me. i didn't get my period on monday, which should have meant baby in january, meds by february. which is good, right? because february is always hard. but sore boobs and tearyness at game shows didn't mean baby. it meant my period was two days late. that's all.
smog and mirrors
truth will out. i used to be someone who people went to. professional people. to write for a big name newspaper. to run a national campaign. or advise on national strategy. or prepare people with grand titles for media entanglements. i used to know more about whatever was going on than anyone else in the room. i was a go-see person. a fly round the world to help a project person. now i count as successful a day where i manage to get P to pre school before nine (without necessarily washing my face or changing entirely out of my pyjamas) walk the dog, put on a load of laundry and take something out of the freezer for dinner before fetching her again at 5. i would always worry about living up to my reputation. i had periods within those years of sought-out-ness when i would fold. be defeated by chemistry. but this feels different. I've come to the end of the road with that life. I haven't worked for six months. don't feel anywhere near capable of doing so again. no more earning of the big bucks for me. or any bucks for that matter.
everything feels sharp and hard and startling. clashing of plates as they come out of the dishwasher. screeching child. raised voices on the radio. a car door inadvertently slammed. each sound jarring, pushing me further away.
i don't want to walk with the empty dog leash in my hand. we're crossing the long neglected playing field in the less nice part of town. its the shortcut to daycare. a dog crap, broken glass, rusty swing brief barrier between our 'sought after' address and the ancient, tree lined avenue where she'll spend her day. after twice a day, three days a week, we recognise other short cut users. and their dogs. ours rushes over to sniff greeting to her friends. a momentary squabble over a ball or rope toy. this morning the sky threatened heavy showers. the field was empty. if someone attacked us, i could use the heavy rope in defence. but then they might wrest it from me and tighten it over my baby's throat. i know this is paranoia. i know that my mind does this to me because i am not taking my medication. i defy it. dangle the rope in my free hand. swinging. casually. but i want to put it in my pocket. i need to hide it. have to. i have a lump in my throat and the pounding in my head is so loud that i can't hear P chattering about her day to come. and how she hopes a certain girl will play with her. and that it doesn't rain this afternoon because after lunch on
wednesdays they have their lessons outdoors. I breathe. and try to remember how well i am doing. that before i had medication i would have these technicolour, Pearl and Dean imaginings a dozen, a hundred times a day. i didn't know what it was like to have room in my head to live. to be considerate of others. to pay attention. open my eyes. often not being able to answer a phone or hear the door without sweating in some inadequate hiding place.
swinging a dog leash in my hand. this is progress. but
i've cancelled my next week appointment with the shrink. i don't want to tell her. don't want to think about it. i have nothing to spare.
i'm a foul weather blogger.
since i started reigning in my hitherto-uncooperative-with -ife brain i have posted with decreasing frequency. i am ungrateful. i read fewer entries posted by those i previously read avidly. i miss chunks. wonder at how a pictured child has grown.
i got really frustrated with how fat the meds were making me. especially after the doc said that no amount of diet and exercise would stay the expanding of my waist. and that my antipsychotic was likely the cause of the miscarriage. i stopped taking it last week. and i'm only taking half my dose of antidepressant. i can't be sure that i want to get pregnant again. another baby in this relationship doesn't necessarily feel like the same warming, building, growing family idea that it did while i was more heavily medicated. i'm motivated more by the weight issue. hardly any item of clothing that involves going around my waist fits me. i've gone up three sizes. i'm wearing sweat pants and trying not to leave the house except in the one pair of enormous jeans i bought to accommodate this alien frame.
i know its stupid to have gone through all that, paid for all that expertise and then abandon it for vanity. and i can feel my deprogrammed brain fingering its way back to familiar ground. the spitting volcanic quicksand it craves.
Palmerston
April 1996 to February 2008
Farewell my long-suffering stripy friend.
odd(s)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.
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.
