There are some memories that, where they were once pleasant, twist into bruises and scars as time passes. You look back at them and recall the feeling you once had, of peace or of happiness, of possibility and joy, and compare it with the idea you have of that time now it has gone. You feel the sinking feeling as you fully appreciate the chasm between a moment that you were a part of, and a moment that you now think of with horror and almost feel yourself fall into it. There are some moments that are horrific and awful and at times I swear they wish to catch me and drag me down again into them.
These are not my feet on the day in question, and those are not the shoes I wore, but the destination was the same and that destination was away. I have no memory so vivid as the feeling of the turning of spring into summer on the way to the train station, pregnant and excited and completely in control. I had an essay in my bag along with the pens and paper I had sorely lacked before then and I was finally, finally going to grab the proverbial bull by the horns and finish my philosophy degree. I left and came back that day, and I really, truly came back.
Later that evening, I started to bleed. The following day, a scan confirmed the pregnancy was not developing, or rather had not developed at all. For every fault I have (and admittedly melodrama is one of them) I am brutally honest. I was honest with myself soon after and quickly accepted that my baby had never really been a baby at all, and that whatever had happened was perhaps not necessarily something I should grieve for.
But I did grieve, albeit mostly privately. It wasn’t the potential for a life I mourned. It was the hope. It was the lack of choice. It was that for a moment there, I had a degree of control over my life I had lacked for years before. When you lose something that you did not intend to, it is almost like being a child again, when you first fall over and cut your knee. “Why me?”
When I cannot sleep it is the moments of loss and missed chances that keep me awake. I think of what I could have done, or should have done and find no comfort but rather a mirror that refuses to tarnish as it unfailingly and unblinkingly looks at me.
Recently I started to look back. At times I don’t think I like what I see very much.
I understand and feel a lot of what you’re going through. Especially they thinking you do at night, i do that too. It keeps me up. :(
(Source: palexahoisephine)
