Reflections: who I was and who I am.

Over the last week I have opened up truths about the last year to a new friend. It wasn’t painful to be honest for once, it was refreshing. But something was painful.

I decided to write a short play for an event, which I did. Then I thought I should get back to the play I started writing last year. I found it and read through it again to remind myself where I needed to write more. That’s when it got painful. I threw my soul into those words and they bit me. I felt melancholy and close to tears the rest of the day, only feeling better when meeting the earlier mentioned friend.

Yesterday, I played the song I wrote almost a year ago which defines the miscarriage for me. I’ve played it a number of times but, this time, I started crying. Maybe it is just tiredness or maybe everything is feeling raw at the moment.

My husband thinks that it is the time of year. It is a year since I started writing again and I started learning to recover. Looking back on who I was then is like looking at a different person most of time time. I can sometimes see that anger though, glinting back up. I walk with my nephew and people smile at me. I don’t have that in the rest of my life.

Being a mother changes the way the world views you. Being a mother without a child changes the way you view the world.

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Poem 83

Parallel lives, parallel worlds

Looking left and right at all that could be

Seeing the joy, seeing the sadness

Seeing the heartbreak bestowed on me

Now that you’re gone, returned to the ground

Now that you’re gone…

…I fear I’ll be found.

Poem 82

The hardest thing

Is when people don’t know.

Comments pass by

Each one a blow.

The missing mention

About motherhood

All because

Life was not good.

The jealous pangs

When people talk about

The laughter and smiles

Before forced to shout

At their beautiful gift

Present and true.

But I lost my gift.

I lost you.

One year on

It has been one year since the worst day of my life: the day that honestly changed my life completely.

I wish I could say that I knew I was better for it but, in all honesty, I imagine that my baby is with me every day. I look at what I’m doing and think of how different my life would be right now if that heartbeat was still going.

In the year since my missed miscarriage, I have:

  • Been diagnosed with depression
  • Had grief counselling
  • Self harmed for the first time
  • Undergone CBT
  • Had a PCOS (polycystic ovaries syndrome) diagnosis confirmed
  • Suffered from stress so badly I wasn’t eating.
  • Been diagnosed as prediabetes.

It has been one hell of a year. However, in that time I have also:

  • Become an auntie
  • Seen 5 friends/family members get married
  • Seen friends become parents
  • Made lots of new friends, including some who will definitely be forever friends
  • Performed music live again
  • Completed two charity swim events, raising £1000.
  • Rebuilt my relationship with my sister
  • Opened up about my problems to my family.

That last point may not seem that important because I open up on here but, in person, I keep my problems very much to myself. I have become much better at knowing that it is ok to show weakness and need to get support from people. This has partly helped rebuild my relationship with my sister. That and her supportiveness about the miscarriage all while she was pregnant herself. She has kept me as involved as I want in my nephew’s life, even giving me permission to come round and cuddle him whenevers I want because he is the thing that is guard to make my face light up again.

This year has caused an incredible transformation. Do I wish it had never happened? Of course. But I also recognise that I cannot change what has passed. If I let myself try, I will go insane. I remind myself to be thankful for the things that I do have and hope that everything has happened for a reason.

Poem 75

One year ago.
One. Whole. Year.
One whole year since I first saw a faint line
And my life changed.
I’m not who I was
No longer that girl
The one with endless hope and smiles
Free from heartbreak.
Now I’m broken
And re-formed
Pieced back together, day by day, hour by hour.
Longing for that different life.
Tested and challenged;
Triumphed and defeated;
Discovering new limits and realms of me –
Destroyed?
Recovered?
Just being.

Poem 73

It’s tiring
Pretending to be strong
My facade is effective
While the inside crumbles.
It’s hard to admit
The unwilling wallowing within
I can’t be the me
That I used to be.
Imbalanced and confused
No easy way to define
The feelings that
Overwhelm – pride.
I can’t admit
For the world to see
All my struggles are there
If you look closely.
See the hollow eye
Now devoid of its smile
It occasionally fills but
Is it a lie?
There once was a smile
For the world to see
You still see that facade
But there is no more me.

Poem 64

Why do my eyes do this?

Crying for no reason

My brain flooding with unexpected emotion

Through the ducts, channelling my face.

Life’s uncertainties overwhelm

The seratonin struggles to balance

What can I do to make the world seem

Focused –

Full of acceptance?

I don’t understand this wave of … something

Rushing, coursing, debilitating.

For now I guess I’ll survive.

Somehow.

Poem 57

Up and down, up and down,

My moods they flutter up and down.

Approval granted for such variation

Doesn’t change the disappointed soul.

Happy yet sad, confused yet clear

I understand that you are not here

Life does go on, it has done, you’ve seen

Yet the grief attacks months after the scene.

Lows and highs, I feel them all

Powerful actions that cut through the heart

Warming or cooling depending upon

The aim of the attack thus far.

Freedom, I long for, my moods can’t sustain

The fluctuation of chemicals in my brain

Overthinking yet vacant, nothing in the stare

Nothing gazed upon either, now you’re not there.

Poem 47

Melancholy illuminated by candlelight
The flickering flame resonating with the unsteady mind
It dances, pirouetting like ill-shaped thoughts
Ultimately steady if not provoked.

The scent fragrances the air and
Cleanses the oversensed mind
A focus, capturing the vision from its lonely source.

Frenetic and unkempt though the mind can be
Calmed, now it is, with the lights serenity
A distraction from hellish thoughts of hurt
Entropy –

there must be balance in this heart.

Poem 46

Hard, compression against the skin

Indentation enough for this night

The feel of where the blade has been pressed

Comforts enough for a crack of light.

Unacceptable method of healing I know

But a stitch it provided, relief, hope,

Incomprehensible thought it must be

It focussed the terror in me.

Left with no scar, temporary red

No blood fell from the attempt

An alternative weapon later may provide

The next step, erosion, of the flesh outside.