Wednesday, July 8, 2015
I have posted many times about how I went "normal". I don't think I ever was really normal to begin with but I just didn't associate myself as goth anymore for many ridiculous reasons.
The funny thing is, I was still "goth". I still dressed like everyone else but there were many days, I pulled out my old goth clothes and wore them. I listened to the music ALL THE TIME. Whenever I wore what I thought was normal, mainstream clothing, the peanut gallery had fun pointing out all the goth undertones. I would then proceed to bitch about how I wasn't goth anymore and would get really sad over that thought.
I have debated many times since I began blogging last year whether or not I should post about this personal subject so openly over the Internet but I want to. I feel like I need to.
Some people have asked me in the past what made me come back to goth. I have numerous reasons why but I always omitted one major reason and today, I want to share that reason.
Back in July 2009 I believed I was 12 weeks pregnant. Here in Canada, the earliest pregnancy scan is at 12 weeks. There is no ultrasound but just a doctor's visit where the doctor does a checkup and uses a device called a Doppler to hear the baby's heartbeat. I was super excited for that appointment! Unfortunately, my doctor was not able to hear a heartbeat.
Trying not to flip out, I was sent for an ultrasound. This is where I got the bad news: My baby died at 6 weeks! I had what they called a missed miscarriage. It is where my body failed to reject the fetus and I pretty much carried a dead baby around for an extra 6 weeks!
Afterwards, there were complications. I chose to miscarry at home vs surgery. The method I chose failed. I thought I had completely miscarried but I started hemorrhaging a week later and had to be rushed to the hospital via ambulance. The ride to the hospital was pretty neat since they even had the sirens and lights on! I was then forced into having the surgery I originally refused.
Afterwards, I went into a huge depression. At one point, I even contemplated suicide. The reason for my depression was not only because I really wanted that baby but it was how I was treated by other people, mainly "family members". I have since estranged myself from these people but they did nothing to bring me down, to gossip about it and even blame me over what happened. The people I was able to talk to, gave me a bunch of mixed reactions. Some had no frigging clue on how to react. Some went through something similar but they did not want to talk about it because it was too painful for them. The majority of the people I knew refused to discuss death. It was taboo. It is something we do not talk about. Some made cold hearted comments about me not being very far along anyway and there was no real baby there. In my opinion, that baby was very real to me. Just like the pregnancy with my son, I KNEW very early on that it was a girl and I was going to name her Charlotte after my favourite song "Charlotte Sometimes" from one of my all time favourite bands! As a mother, I wanted to save Charlotte and would have even traded my life in exchange but I was not able to do so.
Not being able to mourn properly combined with the fact that I really didn't understand why people did not like discussing death was very difficult for me to comprehend. What is so taboo about it? Why don't people talk about it? Am I really that morbid or weird as they claim? To, me these things are normal! This seriously made me take a long hard look at my life and who I was as a person. In a way, I wanted to save that baby but it was really the other way around. She had saved me.
In the end, not long after my son was born, I stopped trying to fit into a mainstream world that I knew I didn't belong in to begin with. So what, I find beauty in the macabre. Big deal! It is who I am, part of my personality. I have been that way since I was very little.
If anyone stumbles upon this blog doing a search on pregnancy or infant loss, perhaps these few words can help you: Talk about it. If someone doesn't understand or listen, talk to someone else you trust. Grieve. Many people have opened up to me and told me their stories because they felt comfortable since I was open about mine. While listening to these stories, I realized one thing the majority of us had in common despite the background or story was self blame. We felt like we did something to cause it. Please know this: That is not true! It wasn't something you did or didn't do. It wasn't your fault.
It has been six years since this has happened to me. I still remember it like it was only yesterday. July is a bitter sweet month for me. I lost so much but gained a lot more. I am a better and happier person because of it.