This title sure sounds narcissistic to me, conceited even?
But I do and I’m kind of lost at where to go next with it. For the last 4 years, I’ve been trying to cope with the death of our baby girl in any way I could. Most of them probably broke every “Get over grief” rule book but to that book, I stuck 2 fingers up and then some. I’ve not got a bloody clue what I’m doing or how I’ve coped but I guess I’ve just had to. I’ve made mistakes, not addressed my real feelings and then continued on hoping it would all just go away and one day I’d wake up feeling “OK” again. That one day i’d wake up and remember all the things I used to enjoy pre-2018. But also I remember being angry at that person too so feeling torn and despising all versions of myself in that moment.
I was angry at pre-2018 me for being so “vapid”. For my beliefs and being so bloody sure of myself that life would work out ok and everything happened for a reason because if you were a good person with a good heart then it just had to, right? I was angry at that person who loved to waste so much money every week buying the latest magazines and cosying up with a glass of wine to read them and drift off into a glamourous world of fashion and style for an hour or so. I was angry at that person who had all the free time in the world but wasted it on things that seem so stupid to me now. I was angry at that person who was always the life and soul of any night out always ready to get in another round of shots and jump about like a dafty without a care in the world. I was angry at that person who hoped and dreamed for a happy future and was certain that it would happen one day without question really.
Actually, I think I still am angry at that person.
I AM angry at the 2017 me who fell pregnant and was duped into thinking all those months of excitement and love were for nothing as it was just about to come crashing down tremendously with more heartache than I could ever have imagined one person could handle. I am angry at the 41 weeks pregnant me who knew deep down that something wasn’t right but chose to leave the hospital that night and believe that the doctor knew what he was doing. I am angry at the 2018 me who in my own way let everyone down who loved our daughter before she was born. But mainly I am angry at my body for letting my daughter down. That last one is one I think will always be the toughest. I am angry that my son will never know who his mum used to be and instead has been left with a shell of her former self, is this version good enough for him? It’s only taken until recently to realise how bloody angry I am with ME.
So here I am, 4 years later still trying to work through the shit show that is grief and I guess the tough bit starts here. Learning to deal with the pain and most of all, the anger, and try to release it somehow.
As always for Francesca and Leo xxx