Why I hate Valentines day 10

So much fake lovey dovey stuff is forced in our faces from mid January to make you buy over priced and largely tatt tokens of affection. I don’t want chocolates in a heart shaped box, or a cheaply made teddy bear just because it’s hugging a heart cushion. It’s everywhere, and this year I am NOT playing this Valentine’s game!

This is going to be a rant, a personal one. If you know my in real life kindly stop reading.

One year ago, on Valentine’s day night, at midnight so he’d think I’d forgotten any kind of gift or love token, totally unexpected to him (I think) I got down on one knee and asked him to be my husband. He said yes, I was so happy.

Then he refused to put the ring on saying he didn’t like jewelry, didn’t want it mentioned anywhere people might hear it or read it. Ok he wants to tell his parents himself maybe? But he didn’t even want to tell them. One day a week or two later I was on Facebook and just changed the relationship bit on my about me profile bit, I clicked it from in a relationship to engaged, I changed other things on profile, a general update. He complained so much. It’s like he was embarrassed of me, I tried to ignore these feelings of rejection. I couldn’t of course, I had long running undiagnosed depression and anxiety.

After several polite why don’t you want to tell anyone, can we set a date type chats from me, I knew it wasn’t on. The ring was still in its box, dumped next to bread bin in our kitchen, where it remained for months. It was a rare size, it was one of only two rings in the city that would fit him at the time. I walked for hours from jewelry shop to the next shop and got blistered feet doing so. It was not an impulsive purchase, I meant it completely.

But he wouldn’t say it, wouldn’t say why I wasn’t good enough, just avoided it, that he had changed his mind.

I ask him outright, no he doesn’t see us married, I’m “just too crazy” were his words. He has no desire to marry me, felt like he was only here out of pity.

Then blow two, my Nan dies just before my birthday in May 2012. The two adults in my life that matter more than anything, one has rejected me, the other decreased.
I knew the exact moment she died as I was stood by my kettle making a cuppa and then I just collapsed crying. I knew she was gone, I felt empty, lost, deserted and broken. Half an hour or so later I got the phone call that confirmed it as the minute I hit the floor. I had even bought myself a smart black dress the day before she died for her funeral as I knew she was “gone”, I felt it.

Same with my Gramps when he went several years earlier. I told my Nan it would be that morning, and she knew I wasn’t guessing. She said she wouldn’t leave his side that day, and she didn’t. I’d been forced by my employer at the time to leave his bedside at the hospice, I phoned and begged, I said he’s going to die the morning I was due back, I wanted a single days extension. I wasn’t allowed, we drove home and I went to work, mobile in pocket and I answered my phone midway through serving a customer. My boss told me to get back on shop floor and get off my phone, my word she got a colourful reply. When I know something I just do. I wish I was wrong!

Anyway, so on my birthday in May I’m hysterical, and wasn’t allowed time off with this employer either. I was at work the next working day, I was a wreck. I couldn’t function, could breath from snot and tears. Luckily for me one person was nice, a lady from a different company spoke to me, offered me tissues, sympathetic ear and then ordered me home. She had no power to send me home, but I just couldn’t argue. Think she told my boss. I can’t remember how I got home. I was a walking zombie for days, angry at myself I wasn’t there, especially as I knew she was going to die.

The week of her funeral, the woman equal to a Mother to me, and my partner was going to frigging Canada for work. One of the worst times in my life made even worse by not having him. Having to travel by train for many hours and with both kids… Remembering I’m socially useless this was hell for me. Why the hell didn’t he cancel? Was work and career so much more important than family and supporting me? It’s not his fault she died and the funeral happened to be that week, but to leave me then was awfully cold. I then got labyrinthitis on the train journey home and wobbled like a drunken tramp for a few weeks. This is often a side effect of loud public transport for me.

What a crap few months, but it didn’t improve. Problems with my health, on a waiting list for an operation that would be agony. The fear and phobias kicked in and I lost. Between my loss of my Nan, heartbreaking realisation I was un marryable, not good enough, problems with my eldest son, my own physical health, I just pop.

Its October, I finally have a breakdown. Partner reckons without warning signs. And again I’m reminded I’m too nuts to marry and he says outright no way, why would anyone marry me. I just want to die, to vanish, no longer exist to be in mental and physical pain daily. A fortnight later another relative dies, my uncle. The only relatives I have left are my mum and my sisters. (well a single sister, as the other is out of my life after telling me all sorts of nasty things whilst I was suicidal in October.) I have a father but I do not know him, by his choice.

So back to tonight, the cause of my rant…

Everything pushing valentines and fake love in your face.
Tonight a program involving brides was on tv and a war starts between me and him. He made some remark about the program and I reply “its not like it matters, I’m not worth marrying.”

Valentine’s day, forever the reminder I’m not worth marrying.

In the following argument it turns out either he really is very ignorant or I’m a great actress. He said I didn’t have a breakdown/PND after Jen’s birth. That I “exaggerated and that’s not what happened” medical folk apparently told him I was “fine”.
I most certainly did have issues, I remember I begged to be hospitalised and refused anti depressants as they had increased suicidal feelings in the past. I was empty inside, a robot, the only thing I focused on was keeping Jen safe and fed.

I was a wreck. I couldn’t leave my room and was convinced I was going to die. How could he not have noticed that?

For around 6 to 8 weeks I needed help to do everything, I was trapped by fear and mental health. I wouldn’t move from when he went to work at 8am until 6pm. If I dropped something it could take me an hour to get it, as I’d have to remain sitting and move millimetres at a time by shuffling across the bed. Often crying from pins and needles as I simply couldn’t move and the pain just built up. Sounds easy to fix, just stand up just move, just snap out of it, but the fear was immense. I was so traumatised from the “perceived near death incident” connected to D’s birth that I was unable to get up.

This is what they now accept as the root of my PTSD. If I moved I thought I would bleed to death, I couldn’t shower or wee alone. I would phone the midwives begging for help, until I was banned from phoning them. One midwife was helpful, she would come round and walk me to the loo, even showering me but only once maybe twice a week and only if she could squeeze her other calls closer.

I remember I phoned a friend, she drove to me just to escort me to the bathroom, really! She had only just passed her driving test, and was nervous coming to me, but she did it. Thanks so much to her, for coming when I needed her. She also managed to arrive at Jen’s birth before my partner, although no one had got there before the birth.
Even midwives had left the room. It’s like they thought I was lying about how fast labour had been going. It was frightening and traumatic, and this caused physical and mental health issues. I’m still suffering from from the physical effect of a baby ripping through me, let’s just say toilet issues, and pain during bedroom gymnastics.

I was trapped from then, each morning partner would leave, breakfast in bed if I was lucky, I’d gather disposable nappies, wipes and a bottle of fizzy pop or water on the bed with me. Whilst he was still nearby I could move, walking slowly, the fear hadn’t gone – it’s simply as he had taken me to hospital after the bleeding incident caused by our first son D’s birth. If I haemorrhaged dramatically and passed out I would wake up in a hospital as I had the first time because he might help me.

I had to breastfed, despite the pain it was causing as I was unable to get to the kettle to bottle fed during daytime. If partner didn’t make me breakfast I normally wouldn’t eat all day until he returned. D was off school as was summer hols. For the first few weeks he helped me, he would bring me food from the fridge, sometimes a drink. I would suggest things he should eat, he was fed, just not by my own hands. I was disabled by fear and mental health.

Gradually the after birth bleeding stopped, I think it was 8 weeks in total. I could finally move a bit more freely, but anything like a sneeze and I would panic and have to sit down in case bleeding followed. Things like swimming were awful, that much water, all I could think was I would bleed out, the original incident happened in water. It’s a logical link.

I wanted to die as it was torture going on in my head. I jumped in front of a bus when he was a few months old, and it missed me. It was planned rather than impulse. In Jen’s nappy bag was all his medical notes, a day worth of clothing and nappies and ready made milk. I might have been a failure as a person, but I wanted him to be ok. I had put his buggy breaks on on the pavement and stepped out.

I can’t believe my partner does not REMEMBER these things, tonight claiming my October breakdown was out of the blue with no warning. Stating I exaggerated, it didn’t happen? This hurts, A LOT.

He made it worse. He said “Whoa hold on, you’re telling me you neglected D that whole summer holiday? He had to fend for his self whilst you were too lazy to get out of bed? No wonder D hates you!”

Now I just want to cry, but I’m out of tears. What an idiot to not know I’ve previously had mental health issues during the time we were together. To take the apathetic response of medical staff “she’s ok” whilst I clearly wasn’t, I was madder than a box of frogs. I was begging to be admitted, begging for a hysterectomy, almost praying it would all stop or I’d die. Yes Mrs OverWorkedDoctor I was “ok” in that I was breathing, looking closer, I was shaking and crying saying help me! Yes, OKAY, all fine. :'(

I’m hurt and angry and sad. It’s 4am, nearly daylight and I’m still crying whilst the man I thought loved me just snores happily.

Added to a valentines linky as a frend encouraged me.

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