Getting old...

To start with, I've had a Mountain Dew and a Dr. Pepper after months of no caffeine and it's 1:00 in the morning...just a warning. In other words, I have a lot on my mind and I don't know quite yet where this post is going, so bear with me.

One thing I've noticed lately is that apparently, my son's story is getting old. He may be turning five in just a few short months, so I suppose I should be "over it" by now, according to those who by the way, could never even IMAGINE losing their children, once, at least pretended to care. Almost no one at all even knew my son existed until less than a year ago, and even those who have known for less than six months are literally already MAKING FUN OF ME for it. Literally. Busting my chops about my dead son, like it's some kind of quirk I have that they can poke fun at. My favorite was my sister's boyfriend telling me, "babies die; get over it." REALLY? Because last time I checked, old people are supposed to die and babies are supposed to live...correct? Sometimes I want to say, "Yeah, well then I hope it's YOUR kid some day." But I would never, because one: I would never wish this life upon anyone else, no matter what they did to me; and two: it's not going to get me anywhere. So I have bitten my tongue. Another excellent one was "Not today. I don't have the time or patience for your problems right now." Thanks a lot, best friend of mine...(with beautiful, breathing, healthy children, mind you.) About a month ago, I was with my brother, my sister and her boyfriend, and an episode of House, M.D. came on in which a premature baby boy is on a table being shocked back to life, and eventually, dies right there on screen. I asked nicely a few times, and then eventually not so nicely if they could PLEASE turn it off. They literally LAUGHED, turned it up, and then told me a I was a crazy b****. Yes, you read that correctly. Oh, and my sister's boyfriend, being the biggest **** of them all, said another cute thing to me on our recent cruise (in front of 20 people, by the way: "your son's lucky he's dead, because his mother's such crazy b*tch he would have killed himself by now anyway." I couldn't speak, and ran off crying through a crowd of witnesses. On my top ten of life's worst moments, let me tell you.

So...needless to say, having a birthday party for Trevor is now something that unfortunately is not comfortable for me to do, because my story is getting old, and annoying. I was so excited, too! But celebrating my son's life, is now something I feel ashamed about...AGAIN. I thought I had gotten past this? I thought my ex was the only a**hole person who could have no feeling for something so precious. Apparently, I'm the only one who does. Regardless, I will lose all of my friends and family before I let my son's memory fade AGAIN. I betrayed my little man for far too long, and I will forever make it up to him.

On that note, my story is not the only thing getting old around here. I'm turning twenty-four a week from today (Sept. 25th), but I feel one-hundred and twenty-four. I'm exhausted, worn out, overwhelmed and weakened, trying to keep my son's memory alive. I'm tired from the guilt and embarrassment I feel even speaking his name. THIS IS NOT RIGHT. It can't be. What is wrong with these people? Am I the crazy one? Is it me, or is everyone I know cold-hearted and cruel? I'm also tired from consciously holding back when I feel like mentioning him; or interjecting about the ups and not-so-obvious downs of my pregnancy along with the other mothers. They look at me like I don't belong in their conversation, because I have to step out as soon as it gets to the living baby in your arms part...that part didn't last so long for me. I'm not able to chime in with the cute little things Trev did as a baby. Or give advice on parenting to someone who's technically been a mother for less time that I have.

What I've figured out is that no one really cares about anyone else for an extended period of time. And that 24 sucks. Because everyone I know is either on the end of the scale where they're married with living children and a life, or on the other end, where stuff like that is unfathomable because after all, we're only 24, right? Either way, I've learned that the one thing that makes it impossible to fit in with anyone at all, is having a dead baby...and unfortunately, my son is not here with me; so I guess I'm one of those people who will never fit in.

...I guess I'm getting old.

Downhill Spiral

I'm starting to lose my mind.  My anxiety is really coming to its peak.  I have suffered from depression pretty much since I lost Trevor...that's a permanent thing; I can deal with that.  Last summer, after receiving 2 out of 3 parts of the Gardasil vaccine (DON'T GET IT!), I was hospitalized with a rapid heart rate and a severe panic attack.  My heart still pounds out of my chest, EVERY DAY...but you know, why would my doctor pay attention to something like that?  This whole weekend I had a muscle spasm/twitch going on in my left thumb, which is still not completely gone, but they ignore that, too.  I wake up every single day shaking like a leaf, and it almost NEVER goes away.

People keep telling me this is just anxiety.  I really hope so.  I have, on multiple occasions, convinced myself I was dying.  I suddenly, again, have this HORRIBLE fear of being alone.  I was like this long before I was even out of the 8th grade, so it really never had anything to do with the loss of my little Angel.  I had completely gotten over it, though.  I moved into my own apartment a year ago!  I had never again, until these past few days, had a worry in the world about being alone.  In fact, I went through a phase recently where I just wanted everyone out of my face.  I WANTED to be alone.  I am only even blogging right now because my best friend (who has been babysitting me like an infant this past week, bless her heart) told me to wait half an hour before I can come over her house.  I've been alone since around 1:30 this afternoon, and it's almost 6:00PM.  I don't know why, but when she told me to wait, and I hung up the phone and cried my eyes out.  WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME???  I have been off my depression meds for months now (a choice I made myself)...and I've had the shaking and pounding heart, but not this bad; and none of this fear-of-dying/being-alone stuff.  I have even had the hardest time typing this because I'm trembling like it's 30 below in my apartment (and I'm not cold).  I was originally taking Celexa, for years, and I went to my doctor when I started feeling a little more down than usual, asking her to up my dose.  I LOVED Celexa, I just needed a little more.  Instead she switched me to Welbutrin (which made me crazy), then Zoloft.  I hated the Zoloft too, and figured my doctor would never help me, so I just stopped taking anything at all.  Maybe it was a bad idea.  I know it was...but I just want Celexa back!

I really hope, as well, that all of these physical symptoms are only because of my depression/anxiety, and that once I straighten that out, I will be fine again.  I am WAY too overweight, and I really want to get healthy and lose weight.  If I even try to walk around my apartment, I feel overworked like I'm going to drop dead!  March for Babies was 3.2 miles, and I thought I would die!  I can't even exercise.  Ugh.  I am SO TIRED, ALL THE TIME.  I sleep until around 11:30 every day, and I'm EXHAUSTED by dinner time.  I don't even have a job, and I'm wiped out.  I want to be normal, that's all.  I am leaving in 9 days for what is supposed to be the most incredible vacation weekend of my life.  I've waited 12 years for this (literally)!  I'm not even excited; I'm petrified.  What if I'm too tired/weak to do anything and ruin it for my friends?  What if I have a panic attack?

I hate living like this.  Lord, please help me.