I might be a little quick to jump the gun in this assumption, considering its only been one week, but I can't help but feel as though I'm going to permanently have some adverse feelings towards the day I once reserved for sleeping in and catching up on my laundry.
Last Sunday I didn't get to sleep in. I was woken up at promptly 7am (literally, right on the dot) with the first of what would be several hours of rhythmic, terrible cramping leading up to the single most harrowing ordeal I've faced yet. But boy, did I have a LOT of laundry to do by the time that was over with.
I know there is a light at the end of this hypothetical tunnel. I'm torn between wanting to reach it and move on with my life and feeling immense guilt for wanting to do so. It's self-contradictory. It's tormenting. I still feel incredibly stuck at this point.
Luckily, I do believe that the last of the hormones have left my body. Or I'm assuming as much by my absence of previously relentless pregnancy symptoms. These are the things I began feeling at roughly 4 weeks gestation (everybody is different, mind you):
-Sore breasts. Like, really sore. As in "That 2 mph breeze just punched me in the boob, RUDE" level of sore. Also, I went from being a 32D to a 34DDD in the matter of two weeks (albeit a little further along in the process). I did not make a typo, 3 D's. The current complete lack of soreness and dramatic recession in cup size since Aug 31st has left me with the notion of the hormones taking leave. Also with some glorious white stretch marks and new sagginess. Well, that's just peachy. And now I have no use for all the damn monstrous sports bras I had to buy. Maybe I'll install new sails on my nonexistent yacht, sew a quilt of bitterness, I don't fucking know.
-Who the HELL is cooking with garlic?! I never had a problem with garlic, in fact we used to be pretty tight. Granted, I never liked when people who pretend to know how to cook just drown everything in garlic and think they're Wolfgang Puck or some shit. But I'd have the occasional bulb chillin' at my apartment for the appropriate pasta or flatbread. Well, I should've known something was up when the people barbequing in the next complex over dared to use a marinade with garlic and it was more offensive than a barn full of flatulent sheep. Obvious exaggeration, but anyone who's developed a smell aversion knows that you can't get away from the offending reek fast enough. Now, the marinades don't bother me anymore. Neither does the canister of garlic salt in my pantry. But the people laughing and partying and enjoying their lives? That is still quite irritating to me. Anyways...
-BRB, gonna take a nap. And by that I mean a coma. I originally attributed the insane amount of exhaustion to an abrupt 500000% increase in my day to day stress levels. My job can be pretty tiring and my nightly routine usually consists of coming home, making a hookah (no I don't think it makes me cool and yes smoking is bad), and binge watching Korean drama television shows on Netflix for a couple of hours then passing out. Sometimes I'll have a glass of wine or a screwdriver. Wake up the next day and repeat. But I'd started nodding off if I was sitting still long enough and became genuinely concerned about safely completing my half hour commute. Also, I have insomnia that is capable of keeping me up for 3 days if I don't do something about it due to a brain injury I sustained a few years ago. Needless to say my Ambien went untouched and I'd just curl up on the couch and go night-night without even taking my purse off my shoulder. Now, I'm back to staring blankly at a wall for hours on end. Might need to blow the dust off of my relationship with sleep aides.
-Don't mind me, just being cute and throwing up randomly. I typically only get sick really bad about once a year. That also means that my gag reflex is only exercised annually as well. Until I started gagging when I was brushing my teeth, or drinking certain teas or certain foods. I'll just cut the crap and say it was happening whenever it felt like, due to whatever reason. Sometimes I'd be driving and debate pulling over abruptly on the freeway and emptying the contents of my stomach onto the cement. Your tax dollars at work, California.
-My mood swings cause whiplash. I can be a real asshole sometimes. The kind that doesn't bow out of confrontations whether they involved me originally or not and leaves the people around me feeling super awkward. Since meeting my boyfriend though, I'd mellowed out significantly. I even stopped getting mad at the douchelords who'd cut me off dangerously during my morning commute. Then, The Ultima-Bitch came back with a vengeance. Randomly. At inappropriate times. Almost immediately followed by The Sob Monster, or LOLJK I Love Everything Moron. My mood swings were probably registering on a Richter scale. I'm currently a delicate balance of "How Dare You Smile Within a 50 Mile Radius of Me" and "I'm Just Gonna Hide in My Bed Until The Sun Supernovas". It works for now.
Part of me is grateful for being able to sleep on my stomach again and not upchucking with the slightest provocation. It was enough of a perpetual mind fuck to have my body keep telling me I was pregnant even when the baby had died (at approx. 4 weeks, not the original estimation of 2), even more so roughly a week after I had birthed it from my body. I guess its a closure of sorts, or the start of one at least.
Another part of me feels even more empty now. Like slowly all of my insides had been ripped out throughout the process, and this lack of symptoms I'd actually grown used to is like whatever gutted me decided to come back and take out my skeleton too. That's a pretty accurate way to describe it, come to think of it. Feeling like a sack of blood and nerves. Exposed, oversensitive nerves that cause me to cringe and twitch with the pain and overstimulation of what seems to be life going on around me in a normal fashion when all I want to do is cry. And scream. And damn everything.
8 days post-miscarriage and I'm still a miserable person. But I suspect that will probably be for some time yet.
And if that wasn't enough, Evergreen Terrace's cover of "Sunday, Bloody Sunday" just popped up on my Pandora radio. Excuse me, I might have to pitch my phone through the window now.
xoxo
Angela
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