The last two days have been a bit hard for me, and I didn’t know why.
I do know that I had my first panic attack in ages last night and had to call Aunty C.
She put in down to encounters with ex work colleagues over the weekend.
And she’s probably right, the meeting with one of them did stay with me for a while.
Not because it was awful; but because of the way she treated me.
She wasn’t rude or horrible to me. She was friendly and seemed pleased to see me. But on arrival, she pretty much launched into her own news and barely asked about mine. And when I did talk about my news, she kind of listened then changed the subject as soon as it was polite to do so.
And she really didn’t want to hear anything about my mental condition. That was made crystal clear.
The same thing happened when I met another ex colleague in Spring. Actually she didn’t even give me a chance to talk about my shit she was so scared I’d talk about my breakdown.
Aunty C was adamant that it wasn’t their fault.
‘This is what you taught them, this is what you offered in exchange for their transient friendship. You were everyone’s agony aunt and their needs always came before yours. You gave away something precious for scraps because you thought so little of yourself.’
This is true.
But these encounters did catapult me back to 2012 and make me remember how paranoid, afraid and isolated I was.
Aunty C understood.
‘Seeing those people was bound to effect you this way because you have changed so much in the last year,’ she said, ‘and what you need to take from this? You reassure yourself, you reassure the child that you will never, ever allow her to offer herself up to be treated as an inferior again.’
But that was Monday.
On Tuesday, baby George was born to the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge and the whole world celebrated, myself included.
Purely by coincidence, ‘The One That Got Away’ and his partner uploaded pictures of the recent addition to their family. (see https://sistasertraline.wordpress.com/2013/04/28/last-night-i-dreamt-somebody-loved-me/)
That’s right. She was pregnant.
I never knew.
And you know what? The child is as cute as a button.
And for some reason, I can’t stop looking at those pictures of him.
For the record, I never made any effort whatsoever to get with TOTGA, I didn’t mind when he was dating his future missus and (or maybe I just told myself that, because….), I would never have been able to give him a child.
So why do these images have such an effect on me?
And then this baby viral was sent to me on Facebook.
When I went out on my second date with Goatee Man (who is now in the JGF zone, much to both of our relief) he told me that he was childless for a reason, and that was because he wasn’t keen on or interested in kids.
I can’t say that myself.
I quite like kids, ‘cos I’m a big kid myself. And I find babies fascinating and charming.
And they seem to like me.
And whilst I can’t have them anymore and I don’t (think I) want them now, looking at all these pictures of happy lovin’ couples with their little cherubs has made me wistful and sad.
It would be the easiest thing in the world for me to play the victim and say ‘It’s not fair.’
But somewhere deep inside, I know it is.
There was some reason that I was not meant to have a child. From a physiological point of view, I did suffer from endometriosis when I was younger, but there were plenty of times before that that I could have fallen pregnant.
But it didn’t happen.
Psychologically, I would have been a terrible mum back in my twenties for obvious reasons, but the thing that hurts the most is that now I’m getting to the stage where I could have the potential to be a brilliant mum, that that ship has now only just sailed away.
It’s kind of like missing a bus by a nano second because you turned over on your ankle, and then you have to watch it drive away, whilst you’re hopping around on one foot, cursing and feeling like a complete fool.
Then when you next look up, it has gone.
I must have been one seriously evil motha in my previous life. 😦
That said, I can mope and bemoan my fate all I like, but it is what it is.
- I will never know what it is be a mother.
- I will never fall pregnant.
- I will never share the joy of feeling life grow within me with a loving partner.
- I will never feel my breasts swell with food.
- I will never bring life into this world.
- I will never look into the eyes of another human being and see parts of myself reflected back.
- I will never know the unconditional love that a mother has for her child.
Now that I’ve said it out loud, maybe the hurt will heal, fade and become like a bit of scar tissue; only painful if I prod it.
Maybe one day I’ll be able to lay this feeling of loss to rest once and for all.
There is so much love banked up inside me, with no one to give it to.
What happens to unused love?
Is is like unfertilised eggs?
Does the soul dispose of it, like the female body disposes of the contents of it’s womb every month?
Is is like unused sperm?
Does the soul reabsorb love as the male body absorbs excess semen?
I somehow don’t think it does, otherwise it wouldn’t weigh so heavy.
It just sits there.
Waiting to be utilised.
God help me find somewhere to put this stuff, otherwise I’ll have to sell it on Ebay or call Big Yellow and put it into storage.
Maybe that’s it; maybe I have to save it.
For the next life, perhaps?
Bring it on universe, it can’t come soon enough for me.