Hatred and Blame

No one will allow me to take any blame.  No matter what I say, I'm told "that had nothing to do with it, it wasn't your fault" 

I wish I wasn't smart.  I wish I could point out things that I or other people did wrong and lay some sort of blame.  And I've asked about every little "bad mommy offense" I could think of or that a certain other bitch had accused me of and the doctors simply won't allow the notion that any of those things had anything to do with what happened.  Believe me, I've confessed every bit of deli meat, every snuggle of my outside kitty, and no matter what information I give them, it's not the cause.  I know the doctors couldn't do anything to prevent what happened, so I can't blame them for not doing anything.  I was in the doctors office 36 hours before it all started being told that they've run every test imaginable and they can't find anything wrong so I need to stop worrying.

I need an anger focus.  And I've found one.  My brain probably knows that this is wrong and the blame shouldn't go here, but I need to indulge in some hatred and this is the only safe outlet.  I can't do any harm by blaming this person because the damage to that relationship was already done.  So I'm going to absolutely despise that Mama Drama Bitch, PR.

I'm not sure if I ever put into this blog what an effect she had on me.  She not only dumped me, but she was remarkably cruel about it.  During the fallout, I wrote a very heartfelt email to her and revealed my inner most fears and wounds and she took those wounds and used them to hurt me when she kicked me to the curb.  If she had simply said that we were going in different directions, perhaps it's time to go our separate ways, I would have been so hurt, but that wouldn't have been cruel.  It might have even been forgivable if she changed her mind later.

In one of my last emails to her, I told her of my deepest fear that while people might convince me to my face that they like me and that they are my friends, that behind my back they actually don't like me and they laugh at me or talk about what a bitch I actually am.  I'd rather someone tell me to face that I'm gross or annoying or whatever rather than to discover someone thought that of me while I deluded myself into believing they liked me.  Go ahead and don't like me, but don't make a fool out of me on top of it.  And that's why I allow so few people to be my friend.  Because someone has to work pretty hard to convince me they actually like me and that it's safe for me to believe that.  And at the beginning of our friendship, PR did that work, convinced me I was safe with her.

And how did she respond to that email?  A few excerpts quoted here - "I should have ended our relationship a while ago...."  "I stayed because I felt obligated to."  "There doesn't seem to be any honest foundation for a real friendship."  She didn't have to say any of those things.  She could have just said goodbye.  But she added those for no other reason than to make sure she could poke my wounds and fears on her way out the door.

Until the last week, I don't think I ever cried so hard in my life as when she did that.  I spent a solid week with adrenaline rushing through me with anger and fear of being alone, and that I was fooled despite how hard I protect myself from being that fool.  That was my entire social life (outside of my marriage) and when I was already fearing being alone due to the upcoming months of becoming a sleepwalking milk factory, she took away the only social support I had and was so cruel about it.  I remember spending hours sobbing on the bed while K tried to calm me down.

That bitch did that to me because she believed I didn't want my babies.  Obviously she's a fucking idiot who was seeing something that wasn't there.  She was never exactly the smartest bulb to begin with.  But to accuse a woman who has spent 15 years trying to get pregnant of not actually wanting the babies she was finally given?  Just because I talked about my fears and and the realities of the work coming up instead of being all fa-la-la and rainbows? 

She said I shouldn't be a mother if that's my attitude about it.

I'm not a religious person.  I fall into the poser pagan camp and don't accept anything mankind defines as a God.  But I have a nagging, almost superstitious belief that what you put out there in there universe is heard and responded to in some way.  Her beliefs are similar but much stronger than my own.  She does energy work and such.  Whether or not I believe it, SHE believes that what you put out to the universe comes back to you.

And she put it out there, in writing, that I shouldn't be a mother.  That I shouldn't be pregnant with my girls.  She wished this.

And during the whole of my pregnancy, I experienced stress exactly one time.  Once.  And she inflicted it on me.  And while medical science may say otherwise, I can't help but wonder if during that week of stress, was my immunity compromised?  Did the infection find my body and invade during that week?  Would I have been ok if I hadn't had those stress hormones and adrenaline rushing through my body as I cried that week?

I don't care what medical science says.  There's a logical progression to that timeline.  That the infection might have found me in that week, invaded while my physical defenses were down, and grew over the next weeks until it strangled my girls.  Medical science has no other explanation, so my brain is fixating on that one.  I need an explanation and that's the only one I can find.

And my seething hatred for her is blinding.  And it just kills me that in her stupid, insipid, little tiny, unintelligent "brain" of hers, she is gloating and saying "I told you so".  No matter how much the doctors could tell her how wrong she is and that I did nothing wrong and she's a fucking idiot, she will be out there, convinced that I wasn't good enough and that it's my fault.

PR, you put it to the universe that I shouldn't be a mother.  Congratulations, you won.  And if you ever see me in the grocery store, or the park, you had better turn around and walk the other way before I lay eyes on you.  But don't worry, as much as I'd love nothing more right now than to rip you apart with my bare hands and watch you suffer as you die, you're perfectly safe.  If I can't be dead and with my girls, you sure as hell don't deserve to meet them and join them.

But I hope beyond hope that every pain the universe can find to inflict on you as a result of your own stupidity and idiocy, I hope that pain is inflicted.  But I'll do nothing to cause it.  I know that your husband is out of work and you may not pay rent this month.  And while I don't wish it on your husband or little boy, if my family friend of 30 years, aka your landlord, decides that business is business and you're evicted and homeless next week, I'll smile.  But I'll have nothing to do with it.  I won't say a word to that family friend.  I won't give you the satisfaction of being able to blame me for your situation in any way.  But the rumor mill will tell me if that happens, and just know that it's because of your own life choices and the idiot you've demonstrated yourself to be for the years that I've known you.

And when that little boy grows up, I hope he despises you as much as your two adult children do.  Because fa-la-la and rainbows don't make a good mother.  Hard work tempered with love make a good mother and that's what I'll be some day.  You're not a good mother.  You never have been and that's evidenced in how much your adult children hate you and what dregs of society they turned out to be.  You might be a good playmate to an infant, but you have no capacity to do the hard stuff, like say no, and teach a child how to become an adult and how to contribute to society rather than drain it.  You're not a mother, you're a playmate.

And in 20 years, when my children are growing into respectable, wonderful adults, and you're teaching yet another one of your children how to apply for welfare, think back on your belief that I shouldn't be a mother and feel all the shame and pain of knowing what a failure you are.