The hole inside me: Miscarriage and loss Pt. 1

 These are stories of miscarriage. They are visceral and very intense. Please be prepared for graphic language and potentially disturbing imagery.

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By Anna H. at Sleepy Dolphin

 

The first time I figured out I was pregnant was a total surprise. It wasn’t planned, it was just one of those things. I had such bad morning sickness that I could barely go to work. Once we found out, we had a conversation but decided that we both wanted to go forward with the pregnancy. We even told our parents. We had just started living together, but we knew already that this was it. It was about eight weeks in when I went to an ob/gyn appointment and they discovered that the fetus hadn’t grown. My Dr. wasn’t the best at bedside manner, so she basically said, “We’ll see what happens but we’ll probably wait for the uterus to empty itself.” So, I had to go home, devastated, and just wait for the inevitable to happen.

Continue reading “The hole inside me: Miscarriage and loss Pt. 1”

Forgive me if I repeat myself

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So, my memory isn’t exactly what it used to be. Between years of drugs, hardcore meds, and ECT, I am operating at a surprisingly high level of memory. However I do repeat myself, and for that I apologize in advance (or maybe I already said a lot of what I’m about to say, so in that case I apologize in retrospect). In many ways repetition is good. As Zenyatta says, “Repetition is the pathway to mastery.” Anyway, sorry if I repeat myself. I am trying to become excellent. Continue reading “Forgive me if I repeat myself”

Grief and Borderline and Bears, oh my

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An imposter

18) “At home find a keepsake or rummage through a ‘junk’ drawer and find something that has a sentimental meaning to you, write about it. What or who does it represent? Alternatively find some old photographs and tell me about one of them.”

I have a lot of keepsakes. I connect emotion with object very easily. I think that part of it is the Borderline tendency to be attracted to transitional objects (like a kid’s teddy bear or blanket that they can’t live without and represents constancy). I think the possession I would be most heartbroken to lose would be my childhood bear Huggie. My mother says I grabbed him from a shelf in Continent, a French department store like Walmart but you know, French, and would not let go of him. I was about a year and some old. I don’t know what Huggie used to look like but he has always been flat with two simple black eyes and a little black plastic nose. He has a ribbon around his neck that was, at one point, wide and wrapped into a bow. Now it is tattered and hangs sadly from his neck. Because he was attached to me, his fur is now matted and flat, but will still fluff up when you rub it. He has one silk tag that is so worn that nothing written on it is intelligible. He is blue and I think his original French name was something along the lines of “blue bear.” Continue reading “Grief and Borderline and Bears, oh my”

The Journal: My Days in the Psych Ward

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I spent several years going through some deep troubles including two miscarriages, a suicide attempt and several hospitalizations. This is a record of some of my time during that period.

[Some abbreviations used: 9 Garden North, 9GN, a psych unit; CO, constant or 1:1 observation; SHH, Silver Hill Hospital; NYPres is New York Presbyterian Hospitals; MHW, mental health worker; pdoc, psychiatrist]

10/25/15

Last night I dreamt, wildly. Dr. DeWitt was in my dream and other people from 9GN, where I find myself once again. Today we talked about Husband and how he’s probably withdrawing from school for the semester. I feel guilty about it even though he tells me not to. I can’t help it. All I want to do is cry and give up. I told them (Dr. D and Jodie) that I was feeling rather suicidal. I think it has to do with PMS but who knows. I feel massively dissociated. I can’t get in touch with myself. I’m not even sure I know what’s wrong or why I came back here. The ECT has destroyed my memory.

10/26/15

“We have art in order not to die from the truth.” – Nietzsche Continue reading “The Journal: My Days in the Psych Ward”