I survived

Merry end of the year. I’ve survived another season of the BAD months, and that is something to celebrate. This year they were particularly bad. I guess that’s why I have avoided writing – because this makes it real, ya know?

It starts in September. There was a 5^th birthday, to which I sent no present. I didn’t even know where to begin. How do you? I’ve said before that it is like putting my heart in a box and mailing it away to send presents, and that is just as true now. I don’t know what he is in to. I don’t know what he already has. I just don’t know.

Halloween. There was none of that in my life. We turned off the porch light, stayed in and pretended it was just another day. I could not handle it, knowing my son was out doing his thing and I didn’t/wouldn’t even get a picture. It was too much.

Thanksgiving? I boycotted it this year as much as I could. We went to the casino, blew money we didn’t have to blow, and then had a bar style Thanksgiving dinner. It was nice to people watch, especially in the area that this bar is in. I was thankful to have The One by my side while my heart ached.

Then came December 14^th. What is special about that day, you ask? It was the day 26 people were killed inside an elementary school on the east coast. This hit hard for me. The beginning reports were that the kids involved were all 5-6, which ended up being close to true. Cue anxiety, as there is a 5 year old on the east coast that owns my heart. Even now, writing about it is hard. There was some good in it, though. I finally found the courage to message T on the bookface and ask her to hug Monkey for me. She messaged me back (!!) and we discussed some things. According to her, she was never mad at me. Ok. We can go with that. After all, I have everything to lose, so I have to.  I found out that the EX’s new kid looks a lot like Monkey. I’m not sure why, but that was a major kick in the gut. In the end, she hugged Monkey for me and stopped responding to my messages.

Cut to Dec 16 – The One came home from a weekend with Sugarbutt. We had an argument that was partially fueled by my emotional state (see Dec 14) and partially fueled by frustration/stress. The One had spent money (that I desperately needed for gas) on something he said he wouldn’t and I just was at my wits end. I am of the opinion that his medication is not managing his illness well, and he is certainly spiraling out of his own control. Whatever it is, he left that night. Exactly what I needed in the midst of an emotional weekend and lead up to Christmas. I’m not sure what to say of our status right now, other that we are hoping that this space will allow us both to examine what we really want.

Then there’s Christmas. Oh Christmas. I’d rather just ignore the whole damn day. This year, I got to miss two little boys. Sugarbutt had a whole smorgasbord of presents to open from me that were likely not marked as being from me. That happens when you are suddenly no longer in the picture. Monkey got nothing from me, again a moment of self-preservation. No pictures, no phone calls, no texts. There was nothing from his family to me.

Today, I am recovering from the BAD months, heartbroken and hopeful. I don’t know what the new year will bring in so many ways. All I know is that things will be different.

With Love Always

ME

Fuck

I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole, I fear. I don’t know, maybe I haven’t. There are so many things I don’t know lately.

I don’t know why I even keep this space, there is never anything new and I feel like an imposter.

I don’t know why I bother to hope. It’s futile. It hurts.

Last night was the worst night I have had in a long time – and this morning I feel as unsupported as ever.

Backtracking

Maybe I am bipolar. The doc is trying to figure out what her picture of me is. Maybe I’m not. Maybe I’m just fucked up and no one can or will help.

I’m putting on weight in a way that even I don’t understand. I feel so fat and ugly and unwanted.

Depression is eating me alive – or maybe it’s consuming me dead. Take your pick.

I’m not me anymore. I am a monster.

Failure

I’ve written here before of the fact that I always ‘knew’ I would have a baby for someone else. I planned to be a surrogate for someone I loved dearly. I have not written of why, of how I feel now about it.

A pair of my dearest friends are a couple, a gay male couple. They, obviously, will need a womb and egg donor when it comes time for them to have children – unless VA changes its feelings on homosexual couples adopting. For years, there was no doubt in my mind that I would be that person. Then Monkey came along.

Now don’t get me wrong, I know some people are surrogates for completely altruistic reasons. For me, it was a bit of a selfish thing. Yes, I would be giving them an irreplaceable gift. I would be the ‘hero’ in the situation. I don’t want to be a ‘hero’. I loathe the term, even when referring to my birthmom status. Being a gestational carrier would be no different, in terms of how I feel about myself. I would do anything to bring a smile to those that I love, and for me that is the selfish part. I would not so much be doing it for them, moreso to prove to myself that I could do it, that I was strong enough. It would be because I am selfish. I wanted to be special enough to be the person they chose.

Now I am fairly certain I will never be able to go down that path, and it hurts. I want, more than anything, to help them be parents, to help someone carry on their genetic line. The boys have not decided to carry on their lines yet, but I have had my opportunities to do it. I even went so far as to contact a doctor that deals with such things.

I know I cannot do it. I know that I cannot put my mother through the loving a grandchild that is not ‘her’ grandchild again. She still grieves Monkey. She grieves Sugarbutt. She wants to be a grandmother badly. I did not even tell her of my pregnancy until after I knew I was placing Monkey with H & T, yet she fell in love with that baby across the country. Living with her now, I cannot see putting her through that again. It may be the last straw to push her over the bridge to suicide.

Don’t get me wrong, I could use the money. I could spend it all in one day and still have things I need to spend it on. There is no doubt in that. I just don’t know that the hearts that would break would be worth it. As bonded as I am to children I have never met (my friends’ placed children, for example), there is no way I could go through a pregnancy and not bond with another child.

Mr. Right couldn’t handle it either, I don’t think. Watching someone else’s child grow in me, watching me swell with the beauty of pregnancy, I don’t know that he deserves that sort of pain. I resent adoption, myself, my emotions, for taking away the chance to help friends and family build their families.

I am sorry. It feels like a weakness. I give blood, I am an organ donor, I donate to charity when I can because of the understanding that we are all human. We are all lucky to have what we do and if I have a resource that you do not, why shouldn’t I share?

Yet I cannot. I feel like a failure.

With Love Always,

Me