Friday, September 25, 2009

Treading Water

(1998, near Damascus, Syria) -- I spent yesterday getting acquainted with dying. I was surprised to find out how many of my thoughts and actions were aimed at simple self-preservation.

Like driving. It's a bit liberating not to be so afraid of a crash (although I still don't want to be hurt or mangled). Or at the gas station where the filler-upper had a lit cigarette in his mouth. I was curious how it would feel to be blown to kingdom come, almost daring his cherry to drop near the fumes. Even reading labels and eating unknown foods -- will I still ask about peanuts? It's a deeply ingrained habit to steer clear.

I feel badly for my nephews, who will only have pictures of me and whispered secrets about their crazy aunt.

Even in dying, I see how I don't do things whole-heartedly -- hanging on to the unbrokenness of my body (e.g. no violence) while I'm intent on dousing its life force.
(the next week) -- The problem with the method of dying I've chosen is the time it takes to do it -- weeks or months of willful dying when the body is programmed to live. I feel like the dark curtain has lifted, in spite of my best intentions, and I probably will survive this funk.
(the next week) -- On the Today show, coincidentally today, was news of a newborn found in a toilet at Disney World, and the doctor who just happened to be there to save her. I thought I was over the hyper-sensitivity of baby-loss, but I bawled. It's so damn senseless, so wrong. Getting pregnant is supposed to be the easiest thing in the world, and apparently it's too easy for some. Later, I listened to Sinead O'Connor sing about her 3 babies. I am newly shattered.

The Course in Miracles today is about following the path god wills for us, because in reality it is our will, too. What the $&#* path is it? I want guiding blue lights, like airplanes have when they land in the dark. I want voices in my head. I want dreams I can interpret. This silence makes me think I've been played for a fool.
(next day) -- I am out of pain, so I don't really feel like writing today. I feel back in the world of the normal. Or at least willing to get to know my new normal.


annacyclopedia said...

Amazing to witness this record of your surfacing, Lori, all those years ago. Even though I know it must have happened, knowing you now, this just stills me, seeing the strength of your spirit and your pull towards wholeness and light and survival. These posts will stay with me a long, long time.

Baby Smiling In Back Seat said...

Last week DH and I were discussing abortion-themed songs (don't even ask) so of course Three Babies came up. Such a different perspective than we usually hear, albeit one that most infertiles don't feel like hearing when they're in a bad place.

Kathy said...

Here from the future via Time Warp Tuesday and fascinated to read these journal entries of yours from 15 years ago. It is hard for me to imagine this version of you, knowing you as I feel that I do now. However, I get that we all are works in progress and go through dark times, especially when dealing with infertility and loss. I am so glad that the fog in your life was beginning to lift at the end of this post, rather the last journal entry you shared in this blog entry.

As an aside, the phrase treading water always reminds me of one of my favorite De La Soul songs called Tread Water. If you haven't heard it ever or for awhile, look it up. It's light-hearted but often motivates me to see things from a different perspective when I am in a funk.

jhl said...

"willing to get to know my new normal." What a breathtaking evolution you describe here.

I wish I could go back in time and tell the younger you how beautiful and strong and wise and resilient the older you turned out to be ... I love how you describe the process of coming to hope.

And this line: "I want guiding blue lights, like airplanes have when they land in the dark. I want voices in my head. I want dreams I can interpret. This silence makes me think I've been played for a fool." Oh, yes. I know exactly these yearnings.