I am physically sick, emotionally wounded… probably distorted with hurt.
I was feeling under the weather over the weekend and finally my little cough and cold brewed into a full-blown respiratory infection.
My nose is congested, I can hardly breathe. My throat is sore from coughing really hard. My chest feels tight. My head is heavy and pounding away like nobody’s business. I am running a temperature and asthmatic attack kept me awake last night. Looking at the amount of pills I have to swallow, makes me more sick.
On the other hand, my eyes are puffy from crying. My heart aches as if it is being ripped apart. My mind wonders to the extreme. My moral has reach its lowest.
I am feeling so hopeless helpless…
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Last night, we had some serious issue when I rejected his grandma’s offer to stay with her, in her home for my confinement. I had planned to come back to my own home after my baby is born. Because I knew what I needed most after delivery is to be HOME, a place where I can relate to, a sense of belonging & security. Putting me up somewhere else is going to be pretty traumatic for me, I am afraid that it will add on to contribute stress on me mentally. You don’t know how much fear I have on post-natal blues and what it would do to me.
I had been battling depression for more than decade, I am so terrified of losing it. It is most frightening when you can’t control your own sanity and do things to hurt yourself and even people around you. I don’t want to go back there again.
It makes me very disappointed when he is least concern about my needs. I used to think that he might understand me and is aware of my psychological health and after last night, I think I was wrong about it. He must have thought depression is a feeling, something that I can control, he didn’t recognize that it is an illness. I guess he must have forgotten or didn’t realize that I suffered from BPD and I fought hard to gain control of it without medication.
I know where he is coming from, he wanted me to be well taken care of during my confinement, but the least he can do is the respect my decision and trust that I know what I need for own body. Perhaps he didn’t know me, but I hope at least he tries to listen to me and not forces his decision upon me.
If you ask me to try talking to him… believe me, I always do. My soft pleads and reasonings are nonsense in his eyes. My cry sent him flying into a rage. He stood up, threw the cushion on the floor and stormed off from the living room. I was left flooded with my sorrows and tears, while he shut the bedroom door, ignoring me.
I felt really devastated. Picture me, misunderstood, denied of companionship, feeling really ill, sobbing uncontrollably, pregnant and all alone sitting on the sofa staring at the cushion lying on the floor. It’s been a while since I felt so miserable.
Miseries just wouldn’t spare me. Later that night, my asthma acted up and it took me a while to stabilize my breathing with my inhaler and he was totally unmoved. For a moment, I was wondering if it is worth falling in love ever.
In the morning, he wanted to send me to the clinic, I declined his offer, for I am not ready to face him, or the side of him that makes me shudder with fear, fear of getting hurt again.
I swear I am NOT the unreasonable type of pregnant wife who wanted everything my way. I don’t make extraordinary demands, all I ever wanted is to come back to my own home after I give birth. Sounds reasonable?
Can he hear me? Can you tell him? Would he listen?
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Then again…
I ask myself what is a big deal? I heard the other half of myself answering,"You know nothing will get you down, if only you aren’t you."
And I cried, for I wanted to love him, and not letting my radical side takes over and turns me yet into a person without emotions.
If only…. if only he listens to my cry and realized that I am so torn apart….
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I can recover physically…
Could I choose not to bear the scars of turmoil?
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