Perspective

A long time ago, my best friend made these compilation cd's from the 80's and 90's when we were in Middle School and went to teen dances. Well, I pulled them out, and what a walk through memory lane. Some songs have struck home harder now, than they did when I thought they said it all. 'Long December' by the counting crows is one example. 'Losing My Religion' and 'Everybody hurts' by REM. Although I was never a fan of this band or this song, it had me in tears:



He said of lot things I think I needed to hear. What I can appreciate about his pleas to his friend are his promise of understanding, sympathy, but assurance that the past (not Myles, but everything I've fucked up since losing Myles) can be left behind, along with the lies I've been living.

The suicidal ideation has passed for the most part. It's tempting, but inadequate. I have a suicide letter I'll post. I read it today when I was sitting on the toilet (don't ask) and it said everything I wanted to say, so I was surprised. It still wasn't enough though, you can never say enough, as you have all pointed out. Everyone would walk away from my death, wounded as badly or worse than when we lost Myles. Everyone except me, I guess.

I've been reading through old blogs. Actually I went back to the beginning after I got an email from a new atheist reader and a new November 2008 addition to our sad club of child loss.

I guess what I've read has really revealed many things at this moment. First, my typos are much worse the more in the pit I am. The alcohol was the worst answer to my terrible days. No matter how many rules I created, it still managed to engulf me, though I thought I was immune.

Having the bipolar diagnosis makes more sense than I'd like to admit. Bipolar isn't inherently bad however, as my Psychiatrist said today (and as I've read) many very creative successful people have bipolar. The times of mania, prior to losing Myles were actually times of high productivity, I was supermom, supergrad student, super housewife. I juggled 50 things, seemlessly, and now I look back, and I could only be manic to believe that I could do all those things, and then actually find that 'crazy' energy to actually pull them off.

So the deep depression after losing Myles lead to a much more volatile mania, the two extremes became much more extreme than they had in my life up until that point. Though I would argue in my adolescents that I was definitely on this teeter totter of periods of deep depression, then manic episodes accompanied by major risk taking. On days I felt 'good' it wasn't the real 'good', it was the scary 'good'. The kind of feeling that makes you act impulsively, so sure of yourself in an instant. But at the time, sure of what? Sure of nothing except my life had no meaning anymore, my values were not so valuable, I was invincible to alcohol, invincible to grief, all of which is utter bullshit. It's a very powerful feeling, indifference, don't let anyone fool you. It's so much easier to not care anymore.

Part of me would like to find myself, mentally, in the same place I was a few months after Myles death. Certainly miserable, but at least a clear miserable, not one hazed over by alcohol, drugs, and gardening (I was a MAD gardener, crazy). I had some insight then, insights that are even clearer to me now if I were to just write them out. Gifts from my Myles, secrets to this life that no one can know until it's 'too late' (but it's never too late). I so wanted to know these secrets in the months leading up to Myles death, if I had known them, maybe I would've cherished him more when I had him. But you can't go back. So I have to use those lessons now. It's not just Myles I need to appreciate, it's Simone, and my nieces and nephews, brother and sisters, Mom and Dad.

To commit suicide would be to not apply that knowledge Myles has given me, and that would be the biggest tragedy. Because his short life was not short of radiant, and full of so much meaning, I wouldn't change anything today. Because I know that if he had lived, there would still be no guarantee he'd be in my arms now, or forever. Same with Simone. So I've got to cherish what I have, and mourn what I don't have, but do it in away that isn't sooooo harmful to my own conception of self.

I thought the hardest days would be then, I didn't know that the hardest days were ahead. Now I know that you can never know whether they are in front of you or behind you. They are both, they were always both. Can you prepare for them? Not really. But you can accept that having a terrrrrrrible day, isn't the end of the world. For tomorrow maybe less terrible, the day after, perhaps one filled with meaning, peace, or healing (as was this Tuesday when I got Myles birth certificate).

So, I'm not a failure yet. I might have failed here or there in the past, succeeded too, and in the future, I'll add to both tallies. And if I take what my son's life has shown me, and I apply it, then that means I go on. No matter what, I must go on. Because I was given a gift, and it would be a terrible thing to waste. And killing myself would've been throwing that gift in the garbage, perhaps. And that's not fair to anyone. Suicide may not be 'selfish' but it certainly isn't just; to me, or Simone, or Myles, or anyone who loves me. It doesn't do justice to the meaning of my son's life, and that perhaps would've been the biggest tragedy. For if he lives on in our hearts, then a piece of him would've died with me. It wouldn't have been fair to him.

So, I will go on, I will continue becoming, and I will continue to try to find hope in the future, no matter how forlorn I may feel at the moment. For there is still time, time to err, and time to succeed.

Suicide is not selfish

Did I ask to be born? No. So here I am, and sadly I've placed another human being in this predicament and a second (though perhaps he had a choice in the matter, perhaps he made the smart one). I'm not going to feel bad about being indifferent to whether I live or die. Myles died. Life went on. The sun rose and set, fucksgiving and fuckmas came and went. Other children were brought kicking and screaming into this world by no choice of their own. To quote Camus: We get in the habit of living before we ever get in the habit of thinking. And thinking leads us to the absurd and that is: What is called a reason for living is also called an excellent reason for dying.

CAMUS:
We live on the future, "tomorrow," "later on," "when you have made your way," "you will understand when you are old enough." Such irrelevancies are wonderful enough, for, after all, it's a matter of dying.

[ . . . ]
Man admits that the stands at a certain point on on a curve that that he acknowledges having to travel to its end. He belongs to time, and by the horror that seizes him, he recognizes his worst enemy. Tomorrow, he was longing for tomorrow, whereas everything in him ought to reject it. The revolt of the flesh is absurd. (The myth of sisyphus).

Mania

What the fuck? The fuckers stole my computer after they did a room search. I'm not gonna lie or be ashamed, I tried really hard to kill myself and I was really bummed I didn't succeed (it's like, 'I can't even do THIS right!'). I had my suicide note all written, I just couldn't create anything sharp enough to cut deep enough, so really it was pretty pathetic. I just have about 20 scratches on my left arm. So they made me do 1:1 and that blew cuz I'm a loner and having somebody follow you around all day is really fucking annoying, I'm sure the feeling is mutual.

Now, I don't feel that way today, so please I won't let any of you respond with all the well meaning bullshit about how great I am. Cuz lots of great people kill themselves and in my view, it's their fucking perogative. I. Am. Mine. Sorry. My life.

Blah, blah, blah, I should be telling you how much better I feel and all that jazz, but I feel about the same except fucksgiving is over, a holiday i vow to never celebrate again. So I move to NP this weekend sometime, don't have a phone until then but if you myspace, I'll keep my computer on, and if you want to IM me, I'm at anarchist.mom@live.com. I'll add you and we can hang out before I semi-officially move.

Peace. And I want to do away with Fuckmas this year too, FYI. "Now go make me a turkey pot pie, bitch" - bender.

bipolar I

My therapist finally told me I have bipolar I (with mania), I broke my foot again, and I'm apparently a terrible wife (we are through), mother, and person. Guess I need to 'get with it', and 'toughen up' cuz if life is a test, I'm a fucking failure.


Oh yes, and I totally fucking snuck my computer in cuz these guys are fucking assholes, but I'm too sneaky for them, lol.

Childless Woman

The womb
Rattles its pod, the moon
Discharges itself from the tree with nowhere to go.

My landscape is a hand with no lines,
The roads bunched to a knot,
The knot myself,

Myself the rose you acheive---
This body,
This ivory

Ungodly as a child's shriek.
Spiderlike, I spin mirrors,
Loyal to my image,

Uttering nothing but blood---
Taste it, dark red!
And my forest

My funeral,
And this hill and this
Gleaming with the mouths of corpses.

-Sylvia Plath

Fuck Thanksgiving.

I just couldn't do it. I couldn't. I can't pretend to be happy on that day. I can't be thankful on that day. I can't be around all my relatives, pregnant relatives, happy relatives. My dad was a complete jerk about it when I called him. "Get with it" he said. I'm so sick of his 'toughen up' attitude. I'm just going to treat tomorrow like any other day, take a bath, watch movies, and not think about turkey or family.

I don't think I'll ever be able to celebrate it again. My second favorite holiday, all the family, all the food, none of the gifts, one more thing to mourn.

I just want my Myles, how can I be thankful? I was so thankful last year, 37 weeks, my little turkey Myles was cooked.

MISSing Myles, wishing my family understood, but I don't think they ever will.

Myles' big day (I didn't crawl into a hole)

Technically, I birthed Myles on November 24, 2007, but we found out he was gone on the 23rd, maybe left us that very day. The 23rd always held special significance for me as I had experienced preterm labor, and November 23rd I was 37 weeks exact. It was my victory day. I made my space public for a short while and have been using it for a memorial site for him ( (as you may have seen). I'll change it back after Thanksgiving I think, another sad day, but i made it through the last one. Here's how the day went:

I thought I'd crawl in a hole these last few days, but my sister came down with her four kids (2,4,8,12) and of course Simone was there, and I have a small house, so I had a mad house. I ended up taking them all to the card store and letting them pick out what they think Myles would like, getting balloons and some party hats. They were a blessing (is there . Just what I needed to get the job done, with a smile, and some tears. My daughter of course told anyone who asked that we were celebrating her little brother's birthday, 'but he died'.

I added some pics and their in Myles slideshow. I just realized yesterday, I wanted a cake, and it did turn out nice. My sister and I sang the Rose, my 2 year old nephew popped Myles' balloon, but it was funny. The kids were so wise, and just said the right things. They're so innocent, they don't know enough about death to act all awkward and socially handicapped like adults do.

The day went well, but I'm glad this one is over. Now I have today, and tomorrow, all the rest of the days of my life living without my son to get through. I hope I find some healing days like I found this day in the future.

And btw, Thanks Heidi, you were amazing, just the person i needed. Wish mom coulda seen the balloon release, i saw you stopped by and put the ducks on Myles' stone. I love you so much, you're my best friend, even though I treat you like poop sometimes. I know you love me no matter what, and that means a lot to me.