Rainbow Ahead

I cried so much last night. It had been building for a while and I finally let it out. After taking my shoes off and dumping my bags when I got home, I walked into my bedroom with the intention of getting changed, and instead, collapsed on my bed, rolled into the fetal position and hugged my teddy bears while tears poured from my eyes.

I sobbed, sobbed like I hadn’t done since my ‘darkest hour’. I lay there and looked over at my wardrobe, took in each of the photos I have pinned up; photos of my family, my niece and nephews and friends. I took in the empty door where there had been photos of Gary and I; the empty space waiting for photos of the baby I should be carrying.

Nothing will be able to fill that space; fill the hole that I’m carrying, fill the void that’s weighing me down. Everyone keeps telling me that it will take time, to be patient with myself and I’ll feel better soon. But the hole is huge; the loneliness is real and the hurt is beyond anything I could have imagined.

I’ve been thinking constantly about being a mum lately. It’s more than just being clucky; it’s a desperate need inside me that is just itching to get out. I want to hold my baby in my hands; I want to feel a baby grow inside me, kick my belly; I want to give life to a living, breathing real-life baby. I want to raise and support children. My children. I want to be a mum. I need to be a mum.

There are things I need to work through before this can happen. There is of course the obvious step of finding someone to be the father, meeting someone special to raise children with. But as much as there are things to work on, this is a need inside me that I can’t let go of. I want to be a mum. I need to be a mum.

I read a post on Facebook recently about rainbow babies. I’d not heard of it before and shed a tear when I read the story. A lady bumped into another lady while shopping who was wearing a t-shirt with a rainbow on it, with a caption along the lines of carrying a ‘rainbow baby’. This was to signify that she was carrying a healthy baby after having previously suffered a miscarriage. I felt this woman’s pain but also felt envious of her. She still had her partner, a father for her baby; she had a baby growing inside her.

I don’t have either. I kicked my partner out in anger; I lost my baby. I don’t have hope in a nearby future where I’ll have either in my life again. I can’t see a rainbow baby. I’m absolutely devastated.

I cried while I wrote my last post. There is still so much more I need to work through, to share. I need to accept my body’s betrayal and deal with my time at the hospital. But maybe I finally am on my way to healing. My hole didn’t feel as big, as heavy, this morning. There will be more tears, more crying and more pain. But it will be short lived. I will get my rainbow baby and soon enough my hole will be a tiny speck – never gone, but supported with a rainbow of its own.


Two Months On

I’ve now been not-pregnant for longer than I was actually pregnant and it doesn’t seem to be getting any easier to deal with. I’m trying not to countdown; to blame myself. I’m trying to keep myself busy and think of other things, but when something as unexpected and painful as this happens, I can’t help but do all of that. Life is so unfair at the moment. I want nothing more than to move on, be happy, looking forward to what is yet to come. But I can’t. My mind won’t let me and I keep circling around what I’ve lost; what I should be gaining.

There’s something every day that reminds me of what I’ve lost, what I’m missing out on. From waking up each morning with an ache in my stomach, to smelling the bath products I brought as a treat after I found out I was pregnant to coming home to an empty house. From losing weight and not gaining it to seeing so many happy families and baby products. To friends on Facebook counting down their pregnancies and others counting up the age of their babies. All of these things bring back the memories and stop me from being able to let go of the pain.

I’ve been told that a miscarriage is nature’s way of telling me that my pregnancy wasn’t viable, that I couldn’t have done anything to change the outcome. What I don’t say in return is that I feel like I gave nature a helping hand. That I put myself through so much stress in those weeks, experienced so much anger and frustration that I forced my body and nature to react in this way.

I’m not one to hold on to guilt or lay blame. But right now I feel all of it. I blame myself for not being able to keep my baby alive. I feel guilt for having had a hot bubble bath, for getting angry with Gary, for having a couple of drinks before I knew. I feel so guilty that I was using a facial cleanser that contained ingredients that shouldn’t be used in pregnancy.

I found out I was pregnant on the Thursday night; I kicked Gary out on the Saturday morning. I spent the day and night crying. I ate McDonald’s on the Sunday and spent a miserable day with my family. I went to the doctors on the Monday morning and then had an argument with Gary after. I didn’t allow myself to be happy or excited. I kept thinking about the possibility of miscarriage.

When I told dad I was scared, he asked me why. I told him I was scared of doing it alone, I was scared of everything. I was scared of having a miscarriage. I told mum I was scared of miscarrying. She told me it didn’t run in the family, so there wasn’t a reason to be scared.

On the Tuesday I bought myself ‘What to Expect When You’re Expecting’. I had a hot bubble bath then settled into bed with my new book. I read about the dating scan I was booked in for, what we should see and tried to work out how far along I was. I then read that having hot baths is a no-no. The body can overheat by staying submerged and can’t adjust, as it needs to. I freaked out.

I messaged Gary and told him I was scared of miscarriage and being alone. I was scared I’d done something wrong. I was scared I’d do something wrong. I was scared.

I went about the next nine days in a scared, yet hopeful, daze. I embraced the constant feeling of nausea, the lack of appetite and constant need to pee and just the overall exhaustion. These were all symptoms for the baby that was growing inside me. These were real things that were happening for a very real and exciting thing.

The day for the scan arrived at long last. Mum and Gary came in with me while dad waited outside. I stripped off my jeans and underwear and made myself comfortable on the bed with my knees bent up.

The technician went about her business, asked a few opening questions then proceeded to move about with lots of clicks and measurements on the screen. I had no idea what I was looking at, and eventually asked in a light tone ‘there’s just the one in there, isn’t there?’

The question seemed to linger. She asked me if my doctor had thought that my levels were low. I’d had my blood test almost two weeks ago; I told her that in fact she seemed to think they were quite high and I might have been further along than expected.

Silence followed. I wasn’t too sure what to make of it all. I just stared at the screen, hoping to make sense of the black and grey swirls. It all remained a mystery. I did find it odd that she wasn’t speaking to me, to us and telling us about what she was looking at.

‘I’m sorry, but I can’t detect a heartbeat.’

I don’t know what I said or what happened next, but she said something about sending the genetic counsellor in. Mum was then by my side and hugging me. My tears started and I lay frozen, my knees eventually dropping flat.

We didn’t see the technician again. I kept looking at the screen trying to make sense of it all. I began to doubt myself. Had I made up the symptoms that I’d still been experiencing that very day? Had I somehow created the hormones to appear in my urine and blood tests? Was this all just a big joke?

My biggest fear had come true. The main thing that played on my mind for those two weeks had been my fear of miscarriage. And that is exactly what happened. My body’s ultimate betrayal.

The Taboo of Miscarriage

Miscarriage. It’s not a scary word. It’s not contagious. It’s not going to cause any damage. Miscarriage. That’s twice you’ve read it, and likely twice that you’ve started; paused and twitched. You’ve now twice been conflicted and wanted to move along, forget about the word that you’ve just read. Yes, it’s taboo. It’s an event that can’t be talked about, yet an event that leaves far too many feeling totally alone.

Each person I’ve spoken to about my miscarriage has reacted differently; most haven’t said the word ‘miscarriage’ and have simply offered their condolences. They’re unsure how to talk about it; if they should talk about it, so they offer an apology and move on. Those who have actually said the word are those who have experienced it themselves. I’ve been told that one in four to five pregnancies end in miscarriage. One in four.

I was told that it’s common, that miscarriage is nature’s way of saying that something wasn’t right, that the pregnancy wasn’t viable. As if that is supposed to make me feel better. Nature telling me there was something wrong with the baby I’d started growing inside me was going to make me feel better? Well, it didn’t, it doesn’t and I don’t think it ever will.

I have haemachromotosis – a condition that requires me to regularly donate blood – I’m known as a therapeutic donor. But when anyone donates blood, they’re told to contact the Red Cross should any circumstances change or you feel unwell within the following seven days.

I found out I was pregnant three days after I donated blood. After confirmation from my GP, I made the exciting call to the Red Cross to let them know. They were excited for me and thanked me for telling them. I of course was going to have to follow up with my GP in regards to my ongoing treatment and whether or not I could still donate.

Two weeks ago, I had to call the Red Cross again to say that my circumstances had changed again, and I was no longer pregnant. The lady who took my call was audibly taken aback. She stuttered a bit and didn’t know what to say. She offered her sympathy for what I’d been through, but didn’t know how to react to the word ‘miscarriage’. I was placed on hold as she needed to consult with a nurse. I felt uncomfortable on the call; I turned myself clinical and switched off the emotions inside me. I didn’t help put her at ease; I offered nothing but cold, dry, emotionless words about my circumstances.

I was taken off hold and spoke with the nurse. She wanted to know if it was a miscarriage or an abortion. (Abortion. I am pro-choice, but that would never be my choice. I had been warned that a missed miscarriage is referred to as a missed abortion in medical speak. Why they would use that word, I don’t know.) I informed the nurse that it was a missed miscarriage and not an abortion. I was again offered sympathy, but in a general sense – again, scared of the word ‘miscarriage’. She was sorry for ‘what I’d been through’. I was told that women are usually asked to wait at least 12 months before donating again due to the loss of blood, however as I was a therapeutic donor, it may only need to be six months. She seemed relieved to be able to end the call when I said I was seeing my GP soon and would seek her guidance. I think that is the first time the Red Cross have ended the call.

When I did see my GP, she entered all the details and said that my levels were fine, I was recommended to decrease my frequency from every eight to every twelve weeks. She asked how I was doing, concern etched across her face, genuine in finding out. I love my doctor – she is empathetic, straight to the point and asks me how I’d like to handle things and provides me with options. She genuinely wants to ensure I’m doing well and encourages me to speak, to get out and do things.

A couple of days later I had a call from the Red Cross to confirm my next donation appointment. I reminded this lady that I had recently changed my circumstances and thought there may be some hesitation with booking me back in. She asked me what had happened and I told her that I’d recently suffered a miscarriage. I was offered sympathy; but not generic. I was offered sympathy for my miscarriage. She tried to offer some reassurance and actually used the word. I gave her a genuine thank you. She wasn’t taken aback, she wasn’t afraid. She was real. We booked in my appointment and again, she told me how sorry she was for my miscarriage and wished me all the best. Easily the best call I’ve had with the Red Cross.

I’m not saying that everyone needs to be comfortable with miscarriage, that it is an easy thing to talk about. But it does need to be talked about. Those of us who have experienced it need to know that we’re not alone, that this is common and there is support out there. Women are strong, but we’re stronger together. Hiding from the word, the ‘circumstance’, won’t help us to heal. It only leaves us feeling alienated, alone and scared.

My baby was almost seven weeks along. There was a brain and a tiny human forming. There was a baby growing inside me that suddenly no longer was. I only knew about this baby for three weeks, but I’d wanted this baby for my entire life; for 33 years. For nature to suddenly decide that this wasn’t a feasible pregnancy, that this baby wouldn’t survive, and for others to be scared to talk about it, it’s not fair.

I need to grieve and I needed support to help me grieve. I don’t want to be scared to tell others what I’ve been through; be nervous about them feeling uncomfortable. I want to know that if I say the words ‘I suffered a miscarriage’ I will get concern, sympathy and support; I won’t get discomfort, fear or awkwardness.

Miscarriage. It’s not a scary word. It’s not contagious. It’s not going to cause you any damage. Miscarriage. It’s something that happens in every four to five pregnancies. It’s something that requires empathy and support. It shouldn’t be taboo. Miscarriage.

Greetings to Realisation

‘Hello Laura’

‘Night Laura’

Simple things, really. Usual greetings or farewells, nothing out of the ordinary.

But in my case, my heart stops and my stomach jumps. Why? After the initial shock, my heart and head start to freeze over. I feel myself go backwards, more steps back.  My heart beats rapidly; so rapidly it’s the only thing I can hear in the back of my head. My ears and head pound – all this, from a simple ‘Hello’ or ‘Night’.

I’m trying to move on, keep myself upbeat, keep myself busy. But I still wake up each morning with him crossing my mind, I hear songs on the radio that remind me of him, I watch TV and commercials or shows bring him to the front of my mind. I am so over my stomach tightening and my chest heaving. The hole in my chest. I want to move on and I need to move on.

These simple greetings only add to my pain and confusion. The last message was sent Wednesday night, thankfully after I’d fallen asleep, so my night wasn’t spent tossing and turning and questioning. Instead the questioning happened shortly after waking up and has continued since.

I don’t know what he’s trying to achieve or what he wants. Was he lonely and had no one else to turn to, or did he miss me? Is he doing this to mess with my head? I would like to think that I didn’t fall in love with a manipulator, that I didn’t fall for a nasty person, that he wouldn’t deliberately hurt me. But then he did hurt me, he treated me nastily and did try to put it back on me. So maybe he is messing with me.

I told Jess that I’d heard from him and she got angry. Why is he doing this? Both her and Rachael have told me not to see him when (if?) he comes to Melbourne. I’m still in two minds. There is a part of me that thinks it will be therapeutic; it might finally provide me with a chance to get some much-needed closure. But then there is also the part of me that remains hopeful, that we can work things out and find a way.

We did move quickly; we wanted, well, I wanted, to be with him. Stay in love and build a life. Have children and travel the world, buy a house and open a café. Getting engaged and then married seemed to be the way to do this – it would have provided us with the opportunity to get a visa and be together. But we didn’t actually talk about how we would do all of that. I had full time employment and no restrictions and a path to getting a UK passport. But he didn’t have long-term full time employment and had restrictions on what he was able to do. We didn’t have plans for how we would do all of those things; we just wanted to be together.

It stings when I think back to when he said that the love he had for me wasn’t enough for us to get married; that if we’d met sooner and known each other longer, things may have been different. I interpreted this as him being scared and wanting a way out, that he didn’t love me, didn’t want to be with me.

We didn’t think it all through; I still won’t think of it as ‘the consequences’ however we didn’t make any future plans. We were caught up in the moment and just said we wanted to be together. I need to let go of that moment. Perhaps if we had met sooner, if we hadn’t had the deadline looming, things may have been different. It would have been more than a moment; it would have been a true plan for a future together.

Let him keep sending me those greetings. Let him keep thinking about me. I will no longer let those greetings confuse me. I will not allow my thinking of him to make me sad. I will move on.

‘Hello Gary’

‘Night Gary’

Getting Away

This weekend marked the tentative date that Gary and I had pencilled in for getting married. Before things went sour and he had his ‘moments’, we confirmed a venue being available for today, I had a celebrant lined up and I even asked my bestie if she’d be okay being my bridesmaid on her birthday.

So, as well as my counting for the baby, I’ve also had this weekend’s countdown on. I know that we wouldn’t have been married this weekend; if it were to have happened it would have been getting eloped a couple of weeks ago, or during this week. But this was a specific date we’d seriously talked about. As bloody hard as it was knowing that it was coming up, I hope that by actually having this date here and now it being almost over I am able to move on. Of course, even knowing this, I still cried when I got home this evening, thinking that right now I should be “Mrs L….”.

When T and I caught up a few weeks ago, I told her about this weekend and she said she’d be there and we’d do something: a road trip, a spa day, anything. I asked her on Monday if she was still free – I’d planned nothing – and she was still up for it. So we booked Hobart. I was supposed to have done two weeks in Tassie in April, but had to cancel (story for another time) so it was nice to have this quick trip.

The thing is, when I reached out to T, it was before I’d spoken with Gary. When we did speak on Monday night, I told him that if he’d contacted me an hour earlier, I would have gone to Sydney this weekend; I would have gone to see him. I guess I’m quite lucky that he did wait that extra hour, going to Sydney would have been a huge mistake. When we spoke, I did say why I needed to get away this weekend and he didn’t comment or react. It obviously meant nothing to him.

I couldn’t help but keep thinking about him throughout the weekend though. I know I wasn’t the best company for T, but she knew coming in that I wouldn’t be myself. I had genuinely wanted to have fun, be happy and make the most of a weekend away. But then I had also heard from Gary since my last post. He simply told me not to be worried. I asked how I was supposed to not be worried after his messages to me Monday night? In the end, I sent him the link to this. I figured, why not? If I want him to know what I’ve been going through, then he may as well just read my entire thoughts and pains and emotions of the last couple of months here.

Somewhat surprisingly, I think he did read it. The first comment from him was that this was long – an encyclopaedia was the reference used. Then he told me it was well written. Flattering as that is – I know it’s not well written, I have a lot of work to do on my writing – it’s not what I was hoping for. I know not to expect anything from him, so I don’t know why I still do! I asked him if it had evoked any thoughts or emotions for him. He simply told me that he agreed with some and disagreed with some as well. But again, it was well written.

T told me that he was just trying to get a reaction out of me, gain something for himself and know that I’ll fall in again. I’m not sure about that – but it certainly didn’t help me feel better this weekend. Of course, I did also keep thinking about how I would have liked to have been there with him. We had talked about him coming to Tassie when I was supposed to have come in April – just a weekend in Hobart. He decided against it, but I think he would have actually quite enjoyed it. His loss. I need to focus on that – Hobart, Tasmania… me. All his loss.

My weekend getaway did end up being what I’d expected. I was still in my slump, but I did at least get out of the house. I only cried about him for a minute when I got home (I think my tears have now dried up) and then only almost cried when I saw a man walking with his two daughters today. I’d expected to be down and out and I was. I expected to be cold and I was – though not quite as cold as expected. I had a couple of drinks, but wasn’t up for anything big and slept in a super comfortable hotel bed. All as expected.

Now to work on my next weekend getaway – perhaps with someone who will share that super comfy bed; who will hold my hand as we walk along a new path; who will have a few drinks with me; who will keep me warm. Someone who will want to be there with me and will know within themselves that that is what they want.

It’s time for me to getaway… stop thinking about his loss and start thinking about what I want and will get. My gain. He can’t (or won’t) deliver so I need to focus on finding someone that can and will. I am getting away. Away from him. Away from my slump. Away from a path that will only cause me more hurt and pain. I am getting away.


(Side note – I’ve now got Lenny Kravitz stuck in my head. Who else wants to getaway, fly away????)

Censoring Myself

I’m so annoyed with myself. I let myself get sucked back in the other night and now I’m even deeper inside my slump. My friends knew it and I should have just kept listening to them and kept him blocked.

As I was writing my last post, I had in the back of my mind that I may share this blog with Gary; give him the chance to read what I’d been experiencing and how I’d been feeling. So I censored myself; I was conscious of my unintended audience and didn’t write as I should have done, as I have been doing.

I was also thinking that I’d share this with his mum (I just can’t let go of her not reaching out to me after the miscarriage), but I was doing it so that she could see what he’s going through and not about me. I wanted to ensure that my post wasn’t nasty or showed Gary in a negative light. But this is supposed to be about me and allowing myself to write uncensored, about me getting through it. This is not about him or her.

After we spoke the other night, we had a few messages back and forth. I had tried to message his mum to just reach out. I had mentioned again to Gary how I was hurt that she didn’t contact me; he said it was because I’d told her I’d let her know how the scan went. That still frustrates me. I didn’t contact anyone after the scan. My mum and dad were there, they told my sisters and my bestie contacted my sister when she didn’t hear from me. This is not news you just message people on the other side of the world about. It was still up to her to reach out to me and offer her condolences. To offer me anything in show of support.

As it turns out, I wasn’t able to message her; she’s either blocked me or her account settings don’t let non-friends message her. I’m not sure why she would have blocked me, but apparently she isn’t ‘accepting messages from me right now’. I told Gary this and he said that they’d argued the other night, about me, and that may be why.

I asked why they argued about me – why now, two months later. He said that everyone was attacking him and accusing him of not loving me, that he only wanted a visa to stay here. He was having panic attacks and no one was believing him. They, his mum especially, were taking my side and accusing him of feeling guilty. He said he was doubting himself, that his mind kept playing tricks on him before we broke up. He was convinced he was in love with me, but then he would go to the G and be around Melbourne and think it was all about the visa.

The empath in me came out and I wanted to reassure him; I was worried about him and his wellbeing. I told him that I was certain it hadn’t been about the visa, that I believed he had loved me. I had doubted his love for me in our last weeks together, but that was due to relationship issues, him backing away and distancing himself from me, not due to visa. I said he did have guilt; he has apologised many times for doubting my pregnancy – our baby – and he is likely also suffering from depression. He allows fear and doubt to rule his mind, rather than love and happiness. I wanted to make him feel better, know that he wasn’t alone. I was looking out for him and not me; completely censoring myself.

He didn’t reply to those messages and it has kept me in a slump. I know I shouldn’t have hope for us – we won’t work. I need someone strong who is able to support me and know what they want. Fight for what they want. He demonstrated he won’t support me, doesn’t know what he wants and he absolutely won’t fight for anything. I was so close to fully moving on; yet him reaching out has absolutely thrown me back. I put the censorship barriers up and let the hope of a future with him come back; the possibility of hooking up, going to New Zealand, working on a long-distance relationship.

What’s worse is that he hasn’t said anything that would lead me to believe he wants any of that; he said he would come to Melbourne and would like to say good bye to me. Maybe take me out for dinner. Nothing committal or serious about a future with us. There was a passing comment about him studying to gain a student visa. I have clung to that and I can’t. I can’t go down this path.

I asked him how he was this morning and he replied to tell me he was hungry; asked how I was. I said I was out of sorts, I’d been worried about him and I wasn’t feeling myself again. Unsurprisingly, I haven’t had a response. I don’t know why I was expecting anything different. He didn’t follow up on how I was feeling in the past, even when I almost begged him to; why should now be any different?

I’m wondering if I’ve now helped alleviate him of his guilt and my purpose is now served? Maybe it was all about the visa – he was happiest when we were out in the city. One of our best conversations was after a concert at Rod Laver Arena; we sat on the pedestrian bridge overlooking the G and Melbourne Park and he  commented how lucky he was; lucky to be with me, lucky to be in Melbourne; lucky for a future of raising kids in Melbourne, taking them to AFL and NRL games. Maybe it was the visa. I’ve been saying in the back of my head that it was about the visa and he then did fall in love with me; that he pulled away as his intentions were in the end about the visa and not for love. I need to think he was in love with me, even if just to make me feel better. I can’t think it was all about the visa; I can’t allow myself to think I was fooled and taken in by a salesman. I also can’t allow this hope of genuine love to simmer; I need to knock it out.

I need to get out of this slump. I need to stop censoring my thoughts and get it all out. I need to remove him from my life. I need to stop caring about his wellbeing and completely focus on mine. I had a couple of comments about this with Jess today; she was adamant I need to stop thinking about him; she doesn’t know the full details of what happened and the finer points but she told me to remember how he made me feel and what I went through. I can’t open those gates again. She told me to let him go and move on. I told her my friends and family would love her for that.

I want to say that I can cut him out. But I have twice now cut him out and both times he’s come back in. I keep thinking back to how easy it was, how I felt we fitted nicely into each other’s lives and enjoyed the same things. I’m struggling to see myself finding that with someone else. I have fleeting moments of positivity about the future. But that’s all they are, fleeting.

Censoring my posts, my thoughts, is only holding me back. I can’t have hope for him; he doesn’t have it for himself. I need hope for me and my future – my future without him. I need to stop censoring myself and finally move on.

One step forward, two steps back

I haven’t bounced back from last week’s slump. It feels like each step forward I take, there are at least one or two steps back.

I had another date with the guy from online – I had to give him another chance, though I knew he wasn’t right. We went to the Night Market and it was nice, but not fun; I felt the conversation struggled and I wasn’t feeling it. I decided to take a couple of pics, thought I’d get back into my Instagram buzz.

And that’s where it turns. I posted a simple collage the following day and get some likes. One from Gary. I’d unfriended him on Facebook but hadn’t taken him off Insta. It absolutely knocked me. I just hadn’t expected to see his name on there. Why did he like it? Why now? What does he want?

He’s thinking of me.

I struggled to concentrate the rest of the day and kept thinking and analysing it. It bloody well opened up feelings in me I’d buried or tried to pretend I didn’t have. Why is he thinking about me?

Then Saturday I had a call with a friend in Canada. I had to give her a highly condensed edition of the events this year and it was great to chat with her. She told me that it was okay to think about the positive; it would remind me that I had fallen in love with a great guy, that I wasn’t falsely in love and that it had been a genuine relationship. That I hadn’t been a fool. Her comments were what I needed to hear. A step forward.

Shortly after hanging up, I check my phone.

‘Hello Laura’.

Gary had sent me a message. I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t prepared for this and hadn’t been expecting anything. Why? One step back.

Mel told me to delete it. Emma had no idea. Alison wanted to ensure that it didn’t say anything else – I’d only kept it on preview, didn’t actually open it. When Alison and Amanda arrived before our night out, I opened it. There was nothing else in there.

I was disappointed, yet just knew. He’s not one to write big messages or provide me with a lot of info. But, he was thinking about me.

I continued to stew on it for the afternoon until finally at dinner, Alison and Amanda told me to delete it, delete the entire messenger conversation history and also block him. I did. Two steps forward.

After dinner, Alison and I went into to the city for a few drinks. The night ended up being an early one. So early, that when I got home, I unblocked Gary. (please don’t be mad at me – I’m weak and lonely)

‘Against the advice of all my friends, Hello Gary’.

Three steps backwards.

I had a fitful sleep, waiting for the beep reply. It did eventually around noon. ‘Are you ok?’

We had a few messages back and forth, which included his gut wrenching ‘I miss you’. I wanted to know if he genuinely cared about me and why he was reaching out now. Each contact from him confuses me more and more. I’m trying so hard to move on, yet there is a little part of me that gets excited with the contact, the what if… the hope it springs.

He said he genuinely cared about my wellbeing; I told him I struggled to believe that, considering he hadn’t been there for me when I’d needed him most. I asked what he’d do if I told him I wasn’t ok, wasn’t well. I didn’t get a response.

This then set the mood for the rest of the day and I was not myself, or even my most recent self at mum and dad’s. I was quiet, sad and barely interacting. Happy father’s day dad – I don’t want to talk, eat, socialise, cook or clean. Love ya.

I kept thinking about the message and feeling disappointment in the lack of response, but also knowing that I wouldn’t get one. That I’d set myself up for it. I shouldn’t have been surprised. But it still hurt and ate at me.

I cracked again when I got home and sent him another message. I feel this urge to ensure people understand where I’m coming from, what I’m feeling and as much as I can explain, why I’m feeling something. I don’t know what I hope to achieve from that, but it’s an urge I’ve always had. Listen to me, understand where I’m coming from. Basically I expect too much and just end up opening myself up to further hurt.

But I wanted to know what he was feeling. Why he was contacting me. I need to know. He came back the next night – he told me he was sad; upset that we lost our baby and that if there hadn’t been a miscarriage, we would have got back together. He misses me; he lost his partner and friend. He wasn’t happy.

I know I wrote awhile ago that he’s a lost guy and doesn’t know what he wants. This is still the case and I can feel myself getting drawn in again; I can’t help it. I want to help him. I do still care about him and don’t want him to be hurting or unhappy. I told him that I’d given him opportunities between him moving out and the scan and then again between the scan and him leaving for Sydney but nothing happened.

I said that a baby wasn’t a reason to stay together, but also losing a baby isn’t a reason to not be together.

We actually spoke tonight; he was sad, I could sense that more than anything else in his voice. He apologised again for not believing me when I told him about the pregnancy. He tried to explain it, why he reacted and that he’d likely do that with anyone. The thing is, I get it – to an extent. And while I won’t forget it, that is something I can move on from. I’m a forgiving person and that is something we could have worked through. But him not talking to me, instead talking to strangers – that was something else.

He said that he now recognises that the people he spoke with at work planted the seed; that he shouldn’t have spoken with them. But the fact is, he did. He can’t change it, but, like me, he had to explain it so that I would understand. I realise he is out here effectively alone – I’ve got friends and family to speak with, he doesn’t. But for me, it was more than the pregnancy and reaction. It was the distance leading up to it. Yes, we moved quickly with getting engaged – but it was something I was committed to and looking forward to. He had doubts in his mind and allowed them to take over – he got scared. He kept referring to them as not thinking ahead about ‘the consequences’ of getting married.

I did cry again while speaking. He’s going to stay in Sydney for a few more weeks, then come to Melbourne, hopes to see me to ‘say good bye’ then go up to Cairns before moving on. It again all sounded so final, like when he told me he was going to Sydney. I cracked and am cracking again now. In the back of my head, I’m wondering if I can go with him, can I wrangle some time off work, have I got the money? (Don’t know, no and yes). Two steps back.

We are at different stages of our lives. I’m ready and desperately wanting to settle down and start a family. He’s not. I can’t have this hope in the back of my mind that maybe we can work it out. We want different things here and now. One step forward.

I told him that hindsight is 20:20; the if onlys, the what ifs. We can’t continue to go over those; neither of us will heal. He is not a horrible person; he did some horrible things and reacted in horrible ways. But he’s not a horrible person.

He’s a lost soul who needs to find his way. He thinks far too much about what others think of him – he didn’t like that I’d said my friends told me to block him and that they think poorly of him.

My friends don’t want me to block him as punishment; they want me to block him so I can heal and move on. He wasn’t there to see how low I was and how much pain I was in. The hurt and pain he (unwittingly) caused. Their reaction isn’t about him; it’s about me. Looking after me and ensuring I can move on. One step forward.

If I keep any hope in the back of my mind, or this ‘what if’ then I am stopping myself from moving on. Yes, it was easy and comfortable with him; I did think of him as the one. But he didn’t think enough of that about me.

For each step forward I take, something happens to push me back two.