I Deserve….

I’m sitting here watching the Masterchef grand final and, like many others, I started crying when the families walked in. Those emotional reunions always get to me, but this one – a new level.

I want and deserve to be held the way that Matt held his wife. To be squeezed and held and embraced like there is no tomorrow. To almost fall apart at seeing her after many months away from each other – I deserve that. I deserve to be treated and thought of with respect, love and absolute adoration.

What I deserve is the man I fell in love with, the man who asked for my hand in marriage, the man who assured me that he was absolutely in love with me and that he’d never met anyone like me, that he was the luckiest man in the world. The man that asked my dad for his blessing in gaining my hand in marriage. The man that not only bought an engagement ring, but also the wedding band. The man that chose the perfect ring size on instinct.

What I don’t deserve is the boy that he turned into five – six weeks ago. The man who began withdrawing and telling me that he never actually wanted to get married, telling me that the honeymoon period was over, that we didn’t get along anymore. That he didn’t want to miss out on travelling more, living in New Zealand and Canada. The man who became selfish and thought only of himself and what he might miss out on; the man  who backed down from his promises and plans with me. He refused to acknowledge that he had withdrawn, that he was not open with me, that he was no longer honest with me. I don’t deserve that and he sure as hell doesn’t deserve me.

I deserve someone who will talk to and with me and tell me what is going on and how he is feeling. I don’t deserve someone that discusses our relationship with practical strangers, letting them sway him away from me. I deserve someone that respects and trusts me and won’t let strangers speak poorly of me, especially without having ever met me.

I don’t deserve to be told that I was trying to ‘trap him’ by wanting to get married. By wanting a commitment from the man I loved. I asked him what he said to this stranger when she said this – ‘nothing’. I asked what he had told her to make her say that I was trapping him. He didn’t seem to understand the question or even the far reaching affects of this. He was not respecting me and he no longer trusted me. Because of a stranger.

I deserve someone who trusts me when I say that I’m pregnant. I deserve someone who is excited to be having a child with me and will offer me unwavering support and love. I don’t deserve someone who speaks again with that stranger,  telling her that I’m pregnant, who responds by ‘laughing her head off’, causing him to think I’m lying. I don’t deserve someone who demands I take the ‘piss test in front of him’. I deserve someone who won’t disrespect me and then threaten to tell my family about a pregnancy in its earliest stage. Who then says that so long as I admit to it, he won’t tell anyone and we can forget about it.

It was almost four weeks ago that I found out I was pregnant, and that is how my partner responded. I can understand the initial shock – this was not planned. I was in shock as well and had no idea where to go or what to do next. But simply because girls had ‘pulled this on him in the past’ I was immediately compared to them, even though I was apparently someone he trusted a billion per cent and someone whom he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have met me. I don’t deserve to be compared to disrespectful, cheap ex-girlfriends. I am a 33 year old woman who is independent, financially supporting herself and has no reason to lie about something as remarkable and wondrous as a child. About a baby growing inside me. A baby we had talked about having, who he was so looking forward to taking to AFL and NRL games. A baby he wanted to raise in Melbourne and couldn’t believe his luck at the possibility of this future.

I deserve someone who loves me for me and will let me love them for them. I deserve someone who will squeeze and hold and embrace me like there is no tomorrow. I deserve to have a baby with someone who trusts, respects and believes me and in the baby we will create together.

 

 

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My Darkest Hour

 

So this weekend was hard. Really hard. The hardest I could have possibly imagined. I hope Sunday was my darkest hour as I don’t think I could handle it again.

I tried so hard to be happy and have a good weekend; I went out for dinner, drinks and a dance with some friends on Saturday night. This was followed up by a trip to the theatre with another friend Sunday afternoon. I was determined to at least try to enjoy myself – fake it til I make it. I cried both mornings within minutes of waking up and again throughout the mornings. But I did not want to spend the day or evenings crying.

Saturday evening went well; I had fun, even danced with a guy, but it didn’t feel right. I’d had my baby removed from me less than a week ago – how could I be out there drinking, dancing, laughing? At least I didn’t cry.

Sunday had other ideas in mind. I had to catch a tram into the city for the show, and my tram route goes past the Women’s hospital and the building where I’d had my scan. I knew they were coming up, so I focussed on the podcast I was listening to; I tried to focus on the sudoku on my phone; I put my sunglasses on; I closed my eyes. I tried it all, but as the tram approached, I couldn’t hold it in. My eyes welled up and I had to raise my head – I squeezed my thumbnails into my fingers – anything to not see those buildings and bring back the tragedy of the week before.

I did get through it and managed to only wipe my face once – no attention gained. But then it was time to get off the tram. As I walked along Southbank, the place was filled with young families – mums and dads with their kids, their babies, their gigantic prams. I pulled my sunglasses down and thanked myself for choosing to not wear make up. I got to the cafe where I was meeting Mel, and again, the emotions got to me. My eyes welled up and I had to keep my glasses on; had to keep staring up at the sky, digging my thumbnails in. Anything to shift focus from the happiness and families around me.

Mel arrived and I had to update her on the events of the last week; she has been super supportive, like my other friends and family. The support I should have been getting from my ‘fiancee’. I managed to get through the update and even almost finished my hot chocolate – I’m struggling to get anything down at the moment.

We made our way to the Arts Centre (catching Pokemon along the way; she’s gotta catch em all) and eventually the show started. I’ve not seen Funny Girl before and didn’t know the story line; I bought the tickets months ago based on the stars – Caroline O’Connor and David Hobson. They did not disappoint, they were amazing. But the story – what a terrible ending. I needed a happy ending and it didn’t happen. They broke up and then took their bows. WTF? This is a musical – we expect happy endings. I needed a happy ending. I needed to know that love will win and they can accept changes and move on in life together. I didn’t need them to give up on each other. I didn’t need her to accept his walking away and saying it was for the best. I’m sorry, but this rained all over my parade. How dare they?

Mel and I parted ways and I had to make my way back along the same happy family-filled walkway. And then past the area where my hand was asked for in marriage. It was all torture. I cried on the tram ride home and still on the walk home. I felt like it wouldn’t stop.

I did manage to stop for a bit but not long. I couldn’t stop the tears. I was on the couch filling tissue after tissue after tissue. My heart was racing and my stomach was aching. I felt like my chest was caving in on me. I started to cook some dinner but it was a painful process. I gave up half way through and collapsed on the floor in front of the couch. I didn’t know if I’d make it back up; I honestly didn’t feel like I had the energy and I certainly didn’t have the motivation.

Self-preservation finally kicked in and I realised I needed food or sugar or something to get me moving. I had some juice and continued on with dinner. I managed about 5 mouthfuls before breaking down again. I have never felt pain like this before. I have never felt so low, worthless or just down right sad. I felt like I was falling into an ever increasing darkness that didn’t have a light at the end of the tunnel.

I sent a text to Gary in the hopes that he might come around; I knew he was out having fun (the joys of torturing myself with Facebook) so I asked him to come round on Monday. He had plans Monday and Tuesday and left it at that. I didn’t know who else to call – I didn’t think I could gain comfort from anyone else. My sister is too far away and has her kids; my bestie was also too far and has kids. My other friends were working or again, just too far. And they weren’t Gary.

Gary asked me what was happening. I replied:

‘I’ve been crying on and off since I got home. I feel like my chest is closing in on me. I can barely eat and my head is pounding. I keep getting shivers and at times I feel like I’m struggling to breathe. My chest and stomach have a constant ache. I’m sinking into a deep depression that I can’t see a way out of and I’m supposed to start my new job tomorrow. I’ve never felt more alone.’

I received a reply 22.5 hours later: ‘U ok’.

I’m not sure how I got myself to bed last night but I did. I even managed to put the dishwasher on. I eventually got to sleep but kept waking up. The aches were getting stronger and I was just waiting for the tears to start. I was dreading waking up in the morning as I didn’t want to cry again. I was dreading having to start a new job and pretend everything was fine with a bunch of strangers. I was dreading having to move on with my life.

Last night was my darkest hour. I keep saying in my head ‘my darkest hour, yet‘. Yet is a powerful word. I can’t go back to that darkness but I’m scared I’ll end up back there. I want to say and know and truly believe that that was my darkest hour. But I keep hearing ‘yet’ on repeat.

Today was better. But it’s not over. Yet.