Ah, it is far too early in the evening. I have things I should do, but I would much rather avoid them.

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This last week has been pretty awful. It began with “Pan’s Labyrinth.” I enjoyed the movie, but certain scenes served as harsh reminders of an event I wish I could erase.

Very few people know this, but I figure the more I confront it, the more I will come to terms with it. Lately I have tried to talk about it more, with different people, and it does feel better as I grow more comfortable discussing it. However, I still fear it is something I will never be able to let go.

It happened about two years ago. I was living with Oz and his family at the time. My routine every morning was to get up, use the bathroom, shower, then get ready for the day. However, this particular morning, I started bleeding profusely when I went to the bathroom. It was such a strange feeling, a sudden gush. There was virtually no pain, from what I can remember, though I might also have been in shock from seeing so much blood coming out of me. It sort of felt like freedom. I felt very light, almost as if I were floating, and everything had gone very quiet. The blood itself was very thin and very bright. I thought that I should be screaming, but I couldn’t make a noise.

When I had gathered my wits and was certain that the flow had stopped, I slowly walked back to our bedroom. When I opened the door, I managed to croak out what happened, but before I could finish talking, I had that odd feeling again. I rushed to the bathroom just in time to catch another flood of blood. At that point I was really scared and I wasn’t sure what to do. I couldn’t even cry. I was basically immobile, even though my mind was racing. I started listing some possibilities as to why I would be bleeding, and bleeding without any discernible pain, and somewhere in the back of my brain it registered that I could be having a miscarriage.

This epiphany made me feel terribly empty. I think that is when I finally started to cry. I was very irrational then. I should have gone to the emergency room or something immediately, but I was starting to freak out, and I was too afraid to go to a doctor because I didn’t want him or her to confirm my thoughts as reality.

From what I remember, Oz was getting increasingly frustrated with me, and thus he became increasingly angry. Our relationship was not doing very well back then, and arguments were frequent.

We finally went to the Harbor-UCLA emergency room. I filled out all the necessary forms and took a urine test. All the while I was trembling pretty hard, and I was trying my damnedest not to cry. Oz and I weren’t really talking to each other. In fact, I think we were sitting apart from each other. Part of me realized that he shouldn’t be angry with me, that he should have been comforting me as best he could. And I wanted him to hold me and tell me everything would be OK, even though that wasn’t certain.

As we waited to be seen, I became more and more agitated. And I became increasingly bothered that Ozzie wasn’t even trying to make me feel better. I was growing more frightened, and a flurry of thoughts were building inside me. Finally, I begged him to take me home. I couldn’t stand to be around all the other people in the emergency room. The atmosphere was toxic to me, sterile yet infectious at the same time. I was no where near to seeing a doctor, but the comfort of home sounded much more therapeutic than remaining in the hospital.

Now, he was really mad at me. He basically couldn’t stand to be around me when we got home, so he left and I didn’t know where. His mom tried to comfort me, but I couldn’t stop crying. Apparently, Oz had gone to lunch with Isela to get his mind off of the situation, or me. At least, that’s what it seems/seemed like to me. His mom got really mad at him for leaving me, and gave him shit for it when he got home. Then he started yelling at me for “turning his mom against him.”

The whole incident was so scary, and left me feeling guilty, empty and betrayed.

It was a miscarriage. When it was confirmed I felt awful. I could have had a baby. It would have been born in December, close to Christmas. I was pregnant, and I had no idea.

That still bothers me. I was pregnant. How could I not have known? How did I miss ALL the possible symptoms? I was only a few weeks pregnant, at most, but I keep imagining that I should have noticed something.

And since I didn’t know, I feel like the miscarriage was my fault because I was still taking my contraceptive pills.

Realistically, there was nothing I could have done. And after researching miscarriages, I learned that they are actually fairly common.

These facts do/did nothing to make me feel any better. As time goes on, I think about it less frequently, but when I do remember, I sink into doldrums.

In the movie I mentioned above, a mother dies during childbirth. The blood and her screams rattled me to the bone. I tried to fight it but I still became rather subdued. When I gave in, I just started sobbing. I was very grateful that I wasn’t by myself, because I had watched the movie with David, but I still felt very much alone. I feel trapped in a prison of my own making.

I haven’t really been good company lately, in my opinion. I was OK at last Friday’s party, but I started crying a little bit when I was drunk. I shut off the tears when Kathy approached.

As of right now I still don’t feel as chipper as I have been, and I am trying very hard not to sink any more deeply into my melancholy.

I am not accustomed to asking for help, and I wouldn’t be able to explain the sort of aid I crave. I just feel at a loss. I am very sad and I feel empty. And I want to cry at the most random times.

And while I crave to just have someone hold me and whisper assurances, I don’t think that really helps at all, because ultimately whatever healing I require must come from within.

Perhaps I’m still not ready to heal. Perhaps my guilty feelings are making me wrestle with this as a method of atonement for a sin I feel I committed.

I am only certain of how I feel right now. And I feel like complete dog shit. I am worthless and vile.

I’ll be fine.

(via snip-snap-beep.blogspot.com)