Being a victim

It has been 40 hours since my breakdown. So far, so good. Guy and I went to iHop (noting that they, not the iPod, must have been the inspiration for all the iGadgets out now) with my parents for breakfast. My parents are not at the point where they are really very good at cheering me up, so that kind of stunk. It's not their fault though.

In the spirit of making decisions about how I feel rather than just letting the depression rule me, I've been working on a new list. The list of irrational reasons I am to blame for my miscarriage. Sil laughed when I told it to her the other night, and I could certainly use a good laugh, so I'm sharing. There are still pockets of laughter. They are why I know it will be alright one day.

1. I used to have an eating disorder.
2. I didn't start taking prenatal vitamins or folic acid until I was 7 weeks pregnant.
3. I didn't talk to the baby enough.
4. At 9 weeks 1 day, I had a pedicure and sat in the heated massage chair with it running.
5. I drank too much right before I was pregnant.
6. I drank some wine the night before I peed on a stick even though I suspected I might be pregnant but thought it just couldn't be true.
7. I lifted something that was too heavy.
8. I played a stressful concert.
9. God hates me for not going to church and always blaming him for bad stuff.
10. I existed on fruit smoothies for 5 days during my 9th week.
11. I didn't really exercise.
12. Guy and I had too much sex.
13. I didn't feel enough like a mom in time.
14. I used the microwave.
15. I cleaned the guinnea pig cage.
16. I walked both dogs at the same time.
17. I didn't relax enough and worried about my parents.
18. I let Guy's job situation, or lack thereof stress me out.
19. I didn't pay attention to signs I should have seen. I haven't figured out what they were, but I'm sure I ignored something.
20. I am generally just not cut out to be a parent.

The list will continue to grow I think. Everyday I come up with something else that might have happened, share it with Guy, and then listen to him explain again why it wasn't my fault.

I know this is true. I know it wasn't my fault.

There is a story though. Something I think is relevant. When I was in high school, there was a teacher. He was a pervert and a creep. He sexually and emotionally abused me. I went to therapy a few years later and spent a good deal of time talking about it and having someone try and convince me that it wasn't my fault. I was just a child. I was a victim.

Pardon my language please, but I fucking hate being a victim.

On my last day of therapy, I looked at my therapist, and told him this: I am not a victim. I was 17 years old and knew better. Sure, he shouldn't have been doing what he was doing, but I'm not an idiot. I should have told someone and I should have stopped it.

It was that day that I finally felt better. I took ownership of what had happened to me, acknowledged that it sucked, and felt stronger for admitting that I should have spoken up sooner.

I so wish that applied here, but it doesn't. It just helps to explain a little bit more to myself about why I am how I am. I wish I wasn't a victim, but I guess in this case I am. Me, my baby, Guy, and Lovely. All just victims. How sorry is that?

So much for the laughing. Sorry about that. I seem to walk in circles now, from alright to sad again. I'm thinking that the key might be to figure out how to be alright and sad all at the same time. When I can do that, those are the moments that I can feel hope creeping in.