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Blog - Kelly Glover

A Postpartum Analysis


A Postpartum Analysis. Image by Kelly Glover

I am not quite sure when it got out of control.  I think I was happy each time I was pregnant.  I enjoyed how everyone was so nice to me, gave me a little extra kind attention.  People offered advice, held doors longer, gave up their seats for me.  I was happy each time, I think.  Except for the one I lost.  The one I didn’t want, that never even was.  This one wished away until it died.  Did the drapes start to close after that?

We moved up and down the east coast trying to locate his happiness.  His success. All at the expense of my own.  I was suffering through my suffering.  He closed his eyes.  He was too consumed with his own demons to care about mine.  My first born suffered through my new mom anxieties.  I wanted everything perfect, everyone happy, enriched.  No tantrums for my perfect angel, no way.

A temper fit in a store brings instant mortification.  Learning how to be a parent is so incredibly hard.  Especially when your partner isn’t available.  I was still thinking more about that man than I did myself.  Than I did my child.  I continued to throw dirt in my grave.

Seven years post first baby, five years post lost baby, and bundle of joy number two arrives on the scene.  The most calm child still brings me agitation.  Even though my heart is full, my swollen chest needs air to breathe to stop the suffocation.  I want to enjoy my babies but there is no enjoyment in the monotonous day to day.  Suddenly, number three arrives, unannounced and aggressively.  Again, the first thought is that I did not want this.  I was so alone in my own home, my own thoughts.  I would hide in the bathroom from my children. Don’t all mothers do that?  Do they cry until their eyes hurt, as well?

I became physically ill most of that third pregnancy. Was it morning sickness or worry that hurt the most?  When I bent down to pick one of them up from the crib, the one still inside induces vomit.  Every morning.  I was pregnant almost two years straight.  My body was not able to recover from the first baby before the next took its place.  Only fourteen months apart, they are like twins now, inseparable.

One without the other can not be.

Mommy cries every morning when daddy leaves.  Every morning. Mommy cries for help and Daddy fucks the help.  I remember cleaning up a mess from my incontinent seventeen year old cat, Sammy, who would be dead soon.  He also suffered from my sickness.  I should have loved him more in his final months instead of cursing him when he had an accident.  Should have been more patient.  I should have put my ex to sleep, not my Sam.  That night I was crying, as always, only this time while angrily cleaning up cat shit.

My ex husband comes around the corner.  I looked him in the eye and begged him to help me without a single word spoken.  I was met with a look of pity that both infuriated me and cracked my heart.  Help me!! What is wrong with me!?!  I am never happy.  Never want to do anything or go any where.  I have no friends.  Fun things pissed me off. My life was grey. The only hint of color that remained was asshole black and shit brown. My mind is making my body sick and my body is making my mind sick.

The whole truth hits me and I am no longer a human being.  Just a walking bag of bones.  I couldn’t think of my kids, my parents, my pets.  All I could do was feel sorry for myself.  Swim in the shithole my mind had fun digging.  I wanted to die at least once a day for many, many days.  The anger and hatred, resentment, and bitterness came out of my pores and stained pages that may never be seen.  Dripping out of me like sweat.  I had finally had enough.  Enough of it all.

I dragged myself out of that hole I was stoning myself in. It was a conscious decision to not stay down in that snug little unsafe place anymore.  I had to uncover myself, so I turned to medication and therapy.  The first day of counseling, I crawled through the door. A year later and I am now holding the door open for others. Pills put the correct chemicals in my brain so my mind doesn’t have to work so hard to be happy. Yoga strengthened my spirit and my arms so that I could hold my own weight and pull myself up. I let it all go in small exhalations. The betrayals, the lies, the sadness and cries.  I just let it evaporate. Just as I had experienced it alone, I conquered it alone.  I let the babies take up that empty space inside now.  They gave my dark forest some sunlight.  I enjoy them. Optimistic thoughts drown my past pessimism.  Finally, I am the rainbow again, and there is no gray anymore.  I am pink, purple, red, and even yellow.  My life is nowhere near black and white, and it never will be again.

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