Merry Christmas, Baby

The holidays can prove to be so painful for so many people.  The guilt of having more when some have so much less.  Memories of better times, worse times, lonely times.  Regretful times.  I am in this group of people who find it excruciatingly difficult to get into the spirit most years.

Upon the end of my first real relationship, my devastation drove me to make some of the most dumb-fuck decisions of my life.  I ran to the arms, and eventually the bed, of my closest male friend, Patriot.  I paid for it.  Dearly.  If the whole situation wasn't irresponsible enough, we made it even more so during our "therapeutic sack sessions".  After a long night of tequila shots with my best girl, Trinity, I hungover-ly mentioned that I was late on my period.  So as normal girls do, we stumble our asses to the grocery store for some breakfast fixings and a piss stick.  As Trinity lovingly makes me biscuits, I holler from the bathroom "Hey, what does 2 lines mean?"

So there I was.  A heart broken, drunken mess.  Young, impregnated by my fuck-buddy.  Scared shitless. Of course, I immediately called Patriot.  Well before breakfast was even finished.  He was my one of my closest friends after all.  He would figure this out with me right?  Well, he actually did NOT completely freak out over the phone like I expected.  Instead, he was totally calm and said "You know, when the phone rang, I had a feeling it was you calling for this reason." 

I told my parents the day I found out I was pregnant.  Being the rock stars they are they simply said "We love you and whatever you want to do, we will support you".  Patriot on the other hand, came from a guilt ridden, strict, Catholic family and kept mum. We went back and forth over what to do.  We both have pro-choice views so we had options.  We also felt as adults we should just put on our big kid pants and become parents.  After a couple of weeks of this back and forth, we decided that we were just too unprepared, would likely make miserable parents and each of us had big plans for our lives.  We made an appointment to have a medical abortion.  We would go into a clinic, undergo a few minutes of "are you sure" questioning, I would swallow a pill there, go home to take the rest of the pills and wait out the bloody results.

The evening before the appointment, I called Patriot in hysterics and he immediately rushed over.  I was having doubts.  So was he.  We changed our game-plan entirely.  He called his Catholic parents to tell them they would be Grandparents. Fast forward to 9 weeks gestation and only a few days before Christmas, I miscarried their grandchild alone in my apartment. 

To this day, I think of the result as a blessing.  A bullet dodged.  Patriot and I are civil but no longer close and I am thankful I am not tied to him for the rest of my days.  At present, I am not sure if I even WANT to have children.  Ever.  I am content with only having a dog to depend on me. I have had a lot of fun and many experiences that would have not been possible with a little one in tow.  I am thankful with every ounce of my being that I don't have a 4 year old looking up to me, aspiring to one day make a mess of themselves just as mommy did. 

There is still though, a feeling of inadequacy.  Feeling less than a woman.  If I am unable to accomplish the one and only task I was biologically put on this Earth to do, then why am I here?  And of course, there is the sadness and a sense of loss from the trauma.  Postpartum Depression is widely known and accepted as a real medical emergency.  These women could be of danger to themselves and their children.  Studies show the bonding of mother and child during breast feeding can help alleviate the symptoms.  What about the women suffering with Postpartum Depression who have no baby to bond with?  The body goes through the same hormone spikes and drops (maybe more so) during a miscarriage.  I can say for certainty that even at 9 weeks, I felt mild contractions.  My cervix hurt for weeks afterward.  I technically, gave birth to an albeit tiny, baby.  PPD was indeed VERY real in my case.  I did not change out of my stinky bathrobe for nearly 2 months. 

The world is sympathetic to women who lose their intended and welcomed pregnancies.  But when it is a miscarriage of an unintended pregnancy, the woman is left feeling less deserving of the same sympathy and support.  There is a fear of hearing "Well you didn't really want it anyway".  And asking for support?  Saying "I got drunk and knocked up during a slut phase."  Forget about it.

The shame.

Patriot is now married with a healthy baby girl.  I am happy for him.  But seeing the random photo of the beautiful little girl on my Facebook news feed every so often, strikes a pang in my heart that only few people could imagine.

The First Exorcism

Photo courtesy Veritas Pictures

Today was fairly uneventful.  So I figured it would be a good point to start the exorcism of demons (or exes as some like the call them).  In chronological order, here is the condensed version of the significant men of my 20's.

The Mack
Oh, The Mack.  My first real adult relationship.  The first time "Love" meant something beyond scribbling his name on my paper-bag covered Algebra book.  The Mack and I met during our early twenties, dated like normal grown ups and broke up for normal, grown up reasons. The Mack was everything I thought I wanted in a partner: good looking, charming, athletic, funny, compassionate and a good lover. Unfortunately for me and the future men I would meet, he set my first bar.  Which is why years after our breakup, I left Banjo for him.  Turns out What If? is overrated.  The Mack may have started me down the Yellow Brick Road of emotionally unavailable yet beautifully enticing men.  But he was and is a great guy and we are on good terms to this day.

Patriot
As benign as The Mack was in retrospect, it demolished my spirit when we broke up the first time.  So much that I quickly drank myself into oblivion with my best "guy friend".  Patriot began as nothing more than a shoulder to cry on and buddy to take shots with.  As it all too often happens with vulnerable and naive (and skunk drunk) girls, it eventually turned into a short and toxic tryst. The full story of Patriot is quite depressing and I am just too contented right now to get into it.  A Patriot dedicated post will come sooner than later.

Banjo
Poor Banjo.  He was my first Crazy. An alcoholic musician, he was fun as hell in the beginning.  Once the PBR Can Pyramid in his living room took over the recliner, view of the TV and pathway to the bathroom, I got bored.  We only dated a couple of months before my interest quickly lost steam.   Sadly, Banjo fell HARD for me.  When I returned from a few weeks out of the country to end things... let's just say he didn't adjust well.  He spent the next 2-3 years harassing and occasionally stalking me.  Eventually, via email I told him "Go Fuck Yourself or I'm getting a restraining order."  I hear he now has a nice girlfriend. 

Gator
Like The Mack, Gator was pretty benign.  He was and is a nice guy with whom I stay in touch.  However, I did not get out unscathed.  For just a little under a year, we spent nearly every other day with each other.  Befriended one another's social circle.  He got to know my family.  All that relationship-y stuff, right?  Well at End-Time, I was surprised to hear he never thought it was actually a relationship.  Hmmm.  Fast forward a few years and I have learned to love the mantra "It ain't exclusive until he says it is, Honey."  Little bit of fuckery but I got over it.

The Wrecking Ball
He entered my life with such intensity and force that when he left it, I was standing in a pile of rubble.  He gets his own post.  Another day.

Princess
Really, Princess doesn't entirely belong on this list as he was NOT a significant man in my life.  We only dated a brief period of time but the complete fuckery and hilarity of his story is just too good to omit.  To be kind, Princess is a steaming pile of his own vain, rose-smelling shit.  Our courtship was my first attempt at anything beyond booty-call-status since The Wrecking Ball.  After about 3 months of regular dating and a couple of "what are we" talks, I discover he had been exploring Polyamory.  What's more, I was enlightened by finding evidence rather than him telling me like a man.  The responsible adult would have considered this pertinent information to a budding relationship and would have disclosed it in the beginning.  I am not to judge the lifestyle choices of others, but polyamory is not my bag. 
Here is how our last conversation went:
P: Are you okay?  Why did you leave?  Are you mad at the book?
C: No, I am not mad at the book. I am mad at your explanation for it.  I feel gross and need to soak my vagina in bleach.
P: Don't feel that way.  There hasn't been anyone else since I met you.
C: Yet, you mean? How long would that have last?
P: I would have told you before I involved anyone else.  I still want you to be my Main Girlfriend.
C: Gross.  Listen, I have already been on the fence as to whether or not our thing is working for me.  This just sealed the deal for me.
P: Well, what if we date and just aren't intimate?
C: No.
P: Well can we be friends?
C: No.
P: This is why I didn't want to tell you.  I was afraid it would scare you away and you would want nothing to do with me.
C: You were right.
Good luck to Princess with his Harem.