|itchy feet and fading smile|
:ast week i rushed and did not talk much about my counseling session. I needed to have taken some time to myself to settle with what we talked about, but i did not. I just moved on, compartmentalized so i could function decently to be a grad student and parental figure for my nephew. This week i told my counselor, and myself, that i would take 20 minutes and process.
First, for a music change. Something that takes me back. Ah. Something from way back. Hippie days, Jerry Garcia Band.
Just warning, tough stuff ahead. Depressing. Personal. Read on, if you want.
I am not sure where to start, really. When i entered into this whole dealing with trauma thing, i did not realize the big deal would be with a certain relationship from when i was 19 to 21. This is a story i have told many people, but i have realized there is a lot i never shared.
On the outset, it sounds scary, exciting, strange. There is a VW bus we lived in, the hitchhiking in Canada and WA State, his heroin use, the loss of a child.
Perhaps i will start somewhere in the middle, the hardest thing i have ever said in counseling, and the thing i could not say.
The name of my child who died in utero when i was 6 months pregnant. I could not say it then, and i cannot say it here. On paper, she never even had a name, it just says Baby Girl R*****. This was a pregnancy i did not want. It was a relationship i did not want, but did not know how to live without. A time in my life when i lost my personality, was subject to emotional abuse and manipulation, sexual abuse, drug abuse (on his part).
So, counseling revealed how much this time in my life really affects me now, has affected my subsequent relationships. I even made a little break through about (part of the reasons) why i have not been able to maintain a relationship past 2 years.
I digress. This is story i can tell. You may or may not even want to hear it.
I was 19 and attending a liberal arts college in WA st. I was seriously depressed. I felt as if i did not know how to function in the real world on my own. Someone showed interest in me, even though i was never interested in him from the outset. He had a VW bus and asked me to "travel" with him. After a month or so, i let things happen, gave into sex and a relationship. I consciously though that it would keep me emotionally stable enough to function. Perhaps it did.
Trent told me he was clean, did not do heroin anymore. I believed him, and who was i to know how this drug worked?
At first there was the belittling of the things i loved. Pink Floyd, the band i was obsessed with in high school. Reading, which i have always been avid at, fell by the wayside. He told me stories of my friends from college who said nasty things about me and thought very lowly of me. Later on, when i met people who would become my friends, the little comments "i hope you are not going to so-and-so's house while i am at work."
And the sex. From what i recall, there was no forced sex. But i hated it so much. I would give in because i did not know how to say no, because he had taught me not to say no, somehow. I would cry, i would be emotionally traumatized.
Then, about after a year together, i became pregnant. I was 20. I found out in an emergency room, after being very sick with a kidney infection. The doctor tried to tell me in private, but Trent insisted in being there, and i did not have the will to deny this. Trent was vehemently pro life, stemming from his Catholic background. My fate was sealed. There was no option but to have the child. I do not remember much from this, how i felt in detail, except there was no joy like many women experience. I knew i was in a bad relationship, and i did not want to have a child with this person. I was miserable, tried to hide that i was pregnant. Trent was overjoyed. Everything was about him.
I was just a ghost. A fertile ghost.
Then, one day when i was just about 6 months pregnant, i knew it. Something was wrong. The little flutters i had begun to feel were gone. I called the midwife and scheduled an ultrasound (there had been no testing or ultrasound before because Trent did not believe in it). My baby had a birth defect and had died. I was scheduled for an induction. I would give birth in the tradtional manner, but with untraditional results.
This happened so fast. And, it was all about his grief. He was devastated. Inconsolable. Or, at least, it was my job to console him. I had a lovely birthing room and wonderful kind, supporting nurses. He invited his weird parents, against my wishes, and i could not say no.
And i gave birth.
And he stole my grief. I never grieved, even though i knew, and still know, that i need to. I never knew how.
I knew this would end. The relationship. It had to.
Often i think of the age of my child. She would be almost 15. Fifteen years old. I would have been a great mother, if i had been able to get away from that monster. This, though, would have been very hard.
I feel so old now. I will be 35 in a couple days and what have i done with myself? I jump from relationship to relationship, wanting to know how to stay, wanting to believe in love, in true love, in forever. Wanting to have a child, but getting too old and falling in love with people who already have children and are not interested. I think, under my skin, under my breath...
What have i done wrong? Why am i not the person you love enough to be the mother of your child?
I know, logically this is not the case. I know it. But, i am writing with tears running down my face. I feel i have spent so many years trying to recover what i lost from that time in my life, trying to learn how to be healthy, that i have lost that time. The time with Mark, who i really thought i wanted to have a child with. Now i see why his silence for 6 months devastated me so much.
Life with Trent did not end there. I recovered for about a month at home, found a min wage job and entered the world. This was the first time i really made my own friends. Heather, a very close friend of mine, and one of my oldest, came into my life and was instrumental in assisting me in leaving Trent.
Trend started abusing his relationship with doctors and getting OTC meds. Some were opiate based, others like Ambien. He would have tooth problems, head problems, etc. This moved to actual needle use, since we had met a heroin addict couple who would supply him.
Through Heather i met another man. He was her roommate and we got involved. They both helped me leave Trent, but i really needed the emotional crutch of another man to help.
Trent. He was horrible. He used to call me at work and say he was going to commit suicide. He blamed me, utterly. Since i was his "best friend" it was my job to take care of him. He used and abused me emotionally, and since i am very empathetic, i fell for it. He used to call day and night, to the point where i would get panicky when i heard his voice. My friends used to just hang up on him.
It got to the point where he used up all my sympathy, any emotion i had for him. Gone.
When i heard he died in a knife fight with his cousin. I did not care. I still do not.
So, this is it. The defining trauma in my life, along with suicide, depression, and something about my father i do not feel like writing about this moment.
I want to go on. I do not think i can.