Maybe We Should Go Back

Not Giving Up

Hospital life has become pretty predictable in the last few days. The shock has worn off and I'm mostly just glad that Ethan is still inside. I've had a lot of time to think in here. I've decided that I can no longer just be a vessel for Ethan. I have to fight for him as well. This isn't about me. I may feel like I can't do this, but that is not an option. I must do this.

Ethan is attached to my body, mind and spirit right now, and if my spirit is filled with despair and anger, he won't make it through this. It is so hard for me to be positive because I've been burned a lot in the past by the "positivity police". It all started at church for me. Positivity was supposed to solve all my problems. I read countless books, spent hours replacing my thoughts, and worked the hardest I could to solve my depression through positive thinking. In the end, I was not only still deeply depressed but also felt like a failure. Then I felt anger. Anger at the whole damn positivity idea. "It doesn't work for some people, especially people with a chemical imbalance," I told myself. So I gave up on it. No more self help books. No more podcasts. No more mind training. Nothing.

In some ways negativity was like a warm, familiar blanket to me. It was certainly comfortable, an old friend. I do remember praying and hoping for things as a child, but I was so often let down and my worst fears so often came true that I made a conscious decision to stop hoping one day. I remember where I was when I made the decision. It was a life changing moment for me. No hope = no disappointment. That was the idea anyway. I believe I was about fourteen when I made this decision.

Ever since then I've found it incredibly difficult to believe good things will happen to me. My motto has been: "If something good happens, I'll be pleasantly surprised. If something bad happens, it won't knock me off my feet because I'll expect it." It makes sense in theory, but in real life it's toxic for me. I've undergone years of therapy trying to undo the deeply held belief that I am just somehow cursed with evil and darkness, that God wants to destroy me by ripping at me one little piece at a time.

All those old feelings sprang to the surface on Thursday, and I just felt like giving up. Then I realized it's no longer about me giving up. It's no longer just me who dies. If I want Ethan to have a chance, I have to take the chance of hoping again. I have to take the chance of being positive. I have to risk the disappointment and pain that may or may not come. But I can't let him give up.

I've been speaking to him for days now, telling him that if he feels himself slipping to say NO to the easy way out. To fight for his life. To fight for his future. Something that's always helped me through these dark times is the writing of others.

So I've played youtube clips for him. The first one is the poem "Mother to Son" by Langston Hughes. This is one of my favorite pieces of poetry, and I put it on the belly headphones for Ethan to hear.

The next was this clip from Lord of the Rings:

And this one that I liked simply for its badassery:

Ethan jumped with each video. I know he doesn't understand what this is about, doesn't understand the words or the meanings, but I do know he feels them. I do know these words are life over him. They're as much for me as they are for him. I've wanted to give up so much lately. Things have been so hard for so many fucking years. I feel beaten by life.

But I also refuse to be beaten by life. Life's bullshit can take me at any time, but I will not let it take my son. And if he's the only reason I fight, then I will keep fighting as long as I fucking live. Because this bullshit will not take us.

Ethan's not even a baby yet, but I feel like he's become a man just by fighting this shit with me. I've made a vow to him that I will always fight for him. Always. And that means I have to start fighting for myself again. No more wallowing in victimhood, lamenting my (though it does seem ridiculously excessive these days) bad luck, no more blame game.

Life is laughing at me, but it doesn't know who it's dealing with.