So I am here, I am still surviving. Almost another month since I last wrote.
Feeling more isolated as time goes on. I sit and reflect at how easy friendships were 3 months ago. Is the decline in my friendships directly correlated to the decline in my health? Who knows.
I did reach out to an old friend last night and today. I impromptu sent a friend request on Facebook and it was accepted. I send a short but brief message saying how I couldn't remember why we stopped talking. That was a lie. I didn't stop talking but there came a point where I was doing all the first contact and getting no response and sometimes, you just think, f**k it! Not had a reply yet but I'll cut some slack considering they look like they are on holiday.
Coming up to Christmas and thoughts run to what I should have and what I don't have. Why is it so fricking hard? Nothing feels right and nothing feels wrong. I do know the babies have a new friend. When we visited at the weekend, I told my husband to put back what I thought was a toy blow off one of the gardens. Only it wasn't. It was a piece of paper with the words 'Plot d188'. 8 beds down from our sons. No one lived there. I popped in on Wednesday and they had marked out the plot. Yesterday or today, another family put their child to sleep forever. We've had a good run of no more friends but this one is going to be raw when we visit.
I feel tuned in again to the spiritualist side. I feel I can hear them and feel them. I can sense their laughter and cheekiness. I think they are playing in the night as its a warm feeling during the day and often 'memories' pop in but they are not memories associated with earth. I like it. It's comforting. They know I am struggling.
I have increased my anti-depressants so things are getting more bearable again. Obviously time to go up. Just wish I would have tablets that make me lose weight, not put it on.
A heart mummy friend wrote on her blog recently about how they were treated after their 20 week scan diagnosis of HLHS. How the doctor stated that he assumed they would terminate the pregnancy. I feel the same passionate voice in me, shouting that I wasn't doing that with my eldest. But then the devil on my shoulder whispers 'But you did with your youngest boy'. When will that guilt ever ease? I can arguably justify why we decided to terminate that pregnancy. Listing the numerous health complaints that he would have had, compared to his brother. But the weakling in me is arguing that I didn't give him a chance. And then the pessimist argues, but you believe he died in utero anyway.
Can you see how I tie myself up in knots?
It's ridiculous!
