I know that you are going to read this, and that this blog is going to upset you.
But this is THE event that sent me over the edge and into despair. Alone. This is the event that makes me feel sick as I sit here, nursing my weeping breasts.
I have a lump in my throat and my head is heavy.
I had to ask you to forward the message I sent after this incident. Because I could not remember. Recall.
The message does not sound like me, normally. But I can now feel the pain born prior to composing this letter. Of asking for help. And being told that I was weird, manipulative.
Breathless. Suffocated. Blamed.
I remember sitting in the car (I can feel that there are chemicals being released now as I remember) at the lights near the Salvos Store that I love to visit.
Wailing to Mr. A., dribbling confused babble to my mother.
Why didn’t you love me? Why didn’t you care? What did I do to deserve such pain?
I missed my family. I missed my deceased father. Something in me snapped. I wanted you to hurt. I wanted to cause you pain.
I am so blessed to have had a dad, nan, nanna and pop who would have done anything for their children, their partners and their grandchildren. I am sad that they will not know Master X, but Master X will know them because they are present everyday in our stories.
They are present in our stories because they were present in our lives.
We are spending time and receiving some much needed support from my family over the next couple of weeks. Master X will know them deeply, by not only the way they play with him, but more importantly, by the way they treat each other, and Mr. A. and myself as his parents.
And through this, he will know love.
The traffic lights is the only moment that I recall. There is a message on my phone to a friend later on when I must have returned home. Or perhaps I was still sitting in the car.
That’s right, I was on the phone to mum and Master X. started screaming. Again. I was driving around trying to get him to sleep. To have a break. To be safe. Out of the house. Out of our prison. Safety.
I was scrambled, trying to find reason. Why. What was family meant to be, if it was not meant to be for this, this moment? What is love if it was not meant to feel, better at this time?
I think this moment is so etched, so painful, because by this stage I had asked for help from services, Mr. A., mum, myself.
However my closest friends did not know. I had not wanted to push them any further. Their support from pregnancy through to now was amazing. Loving. Enveloping. Beautiful. (I hope you know who you are our neighbours, and my housemate from Downer). I did not want to burden them. They were always available in the early days. I did not want them to feel like they had failed.
When it was I who had failed.
- Failed to impart to anyone the urgency of what was happening
But part of me also is angry with you. For not coming during the pregnancy. For never asking to come unless it was ‘a good day’.
But we are never going to have a good day. I have a mental illness and have had a psychotic episode along with postnatal depression. I have a baby (whom I love) who is the opposite to me; lively, social, extrovert.
Gentle, loving. Well. Healthy.
I need to find a way to forgive, make amends. With you, with myself. This is the first step. Acknowledgement and letting go. Because I have tried talking, and talking and talking and journaling however this seems to be the most effective forum for me through this episode.
This episode of pain that we call life.
If you or someone you know is experiencing thoughts of suicide please contact Lifeline immediately 13 11 14