Posts Tagged ‘ Jealousy ’

Envy All Someday, Yes? – Poem

Envy is a sin, apparently, to some.
A deadly sin that will be punished.
Some live their lives by a sin.
Yet live happily with no remorse,

Escaping the confines of a tear.
Always walking a fine line of life.
Side stepping pain and anguish.
Yellow rays of light make their life complete,

Editing their truth for others to see.
And lying their way through life.
Stuck in the sand and blinkered.
You’d think compassion was a given,

Even though their life passes by, untouched.
All for one and one for none.
Suffering alone with hardship.
Yes, life isn’t always easy.

© 22nd February 2012


Reblog (Kinda): Will It Always Be

I wrote this earlier on for my newer blog, but I thought it also fit here, too. After-all this is where I started the TTC journey. I can’t say if it’s hormones, or just years of pain, but I seem to be unable to be 100% happy for anyone else. And it makes it difficult for them to be happy for me.

I still dread facebook, family phonecalls, people’s news. It really doesn’t seem to matter that I’m pretty much almost 9 months pregnant. I burst into tears at a friend’s untactful announcement – do people still need to be tactful around me now that I’ve succeeded in conceiving? I am no longer TTC, I’ve STC or MTC, with help, but I still feel like I’m TTC. I deleted the family member who got pregnant and announced it on facebook (even though I didn’t consider her important enough to tell other than by facebook), I still offer half-hearted congratulations to other family members when they get to have their second already.

One of my best-friends was due a few weeks after me (it took a while for me to come to terms with that, too, because it was so, so close to me and I think I figure after this long I wanted to be special, unique and alone), but now due to medical issues, she’s going to have to be induced a week before my EDD. There’s still a chance I can “beat” her, but that’s where my problem is: it isn’t a freaking race! Don’t get me wrong, I’m worried for her, but also pleased that she and baby seem to be okay. There are increased risks now for both of them, but the doctors are all aware.

I still have the nagging thought though: she’s going to beat me. She along with everyone else I know, is going to beat me. And I’m so close to ending three years of pain, but I really will get there last.

Except none of that really matters does it?

It doesn’t matter that she’s going to “beat” me, that I’m last, that other people get their first, second, third so easily without any of the pain I endured for three years. All that matters is that we all have healthy babies, and that we stay healthy, too.

This was the other blog I posted:

I’ve said before that I think I’ll always consider myself fertility challenged and that until I reach the elusive Other Side, I could end up right back in the Trenches with all those others TTC.

I’d like to think that, all being well with Elvis, if I ever wanted a second I’d never liken that inevitable heartache with the 3 years I suffered and what those still TTC their first go through. They’re sure to be similar, both wanting something far outside of your reach, but they’re also world’s apart.

With a little over 2 weeks until my EDD it’s still all so uncertain. I could still lose everything and have my desperate run for life be shot down at the final hurdle. I honestly thought things would get better, that I’d stop feeling like this when I got pregnant because I was/am lucky enough to have conceived with assistance. Naively I knew that I’d never stop feeling infertile but I hoped it’d feel better.

It doesn’t feel better.

Despite feeling a 37 week Elvis kicking me I still feel like crap when someone else gets pregnant, when someone else is lucky enough to skip over all the pain and heartache I went through. I don’t hate them, not like I used to, but I still can’t deal with them.

Will it always be like this? Or will Elvis heal it all? How can I stop all of this coming between me, my family and my friends?

And it does matter. To a small enough part of me, it does matter that I’m last. That this world is so unfair that it keeps reminding me of how unfair it is.

Desperately, I want to stop feeling like this, to stop resenting or hating, to stop comparing, to stop feeling like I’m still TTC. Deep down I’m still so petrified of ending up back where I started. I couldn’t keep on with the trying journey before I got accepted for IUI, and I won’t survive not finishing this successfully. Maybe it really is as simple as when I hold him, I’ll stop. Maybe that really is the only way to stop all of the pain and negativity that built up over 3 years.

~ Persephone M

Poem: Overlooking Normal

Standing there alone, her balcony to the world below,
She’s alone with her thoughts as the world passes by.
It’s all at her feet and it could all be hers, if she wanted it,
Or she could stand there alone with no desires met.
It’s all superficial in her sector of the world,
All about looks, possessions and not what’s inside.

Her shocking pink towelling keeps her warm under the sun,
Keeps the naturally heated yellow from her orange skin.
The tartrazine hair that’s brittle and scraped up,
Barely blows on the motionless early morning outing.
Bare footed on the decking, her toes wriggle free,
A few minutes left and then her comfy couch will beckon.

The traffic hums beneath her, steadily throughout the day,
A normal lull after and before the working day times.
She only knows from her hourly foray into sunlight,
That others have a routine more complex than she.
The children passing her, pass her by without a care,
An occasional glance and smirk at their awaiting life.

Across the road on which they all run, hidden in bricks,
The cooks of the future practice hard behind the black outs.
Wondrous smells diffuse through the fog and smoke,
Of foreign dishes, natural methods, no added toxins.
She knows nothing of what occurs behind the open windows,
She knows only of tins, cans, jars, of take-aways, of junk.

Huffing and puffing, her head’s almost lost in the clouds,
A life wasted some would say, a life enjoyed by her.
She knows nothing else, doesn’t understand “potential”,
Young or old, because who can tell with the added lines,
A sadness washes over me for what she believes in,
Daytime TV on the sofa, Nighttime dancing on a floor.

In the corner, everything’s piling up: dirty clothes, dirty dishes,
A pile of babies play near by, fighting and screaming.
In that minute of peace, she forgets all about the life inside,
Only to return and Yell for silence to watch her shows.
They’ll follow her example from now and to forever,
Living worse than rats, reproducing like bunnies and her.

She was never given potential, or the room to grow,
The same punishment falls upon them now, doomed.
None know of anything else, their cards have been dealt,
They can see no escape from their Alcatraz, my Hell.
Until men walk in and buy her a drink, receiving much more,
He can be the new father, he can be her saviour.

It all turns sour from the first sobering moment,
Yet they all cling on, sinking further away from potential.
She yells and she screams, she fights with the men,
Then yells and screams at the babies for fighting back.
Until someone breaks and the men flee in the night,
Leaving heartbroken babies and another on the way.

(c) Persephone Muse 16th July 2011
I wrote this last year, inspired by a woman who still persists on watching the real world pass her by. Simultaneously, I’m able to look down upon her, look up to her and meet her eyes dead on.
~ Persephone M

A World of Hay – Poem

Is this how it ends?
Is this the truth,
That the prophecy held?
As the rope weakens,
Fraying from its core,
Until it snaps.
The final straw.
The camel’s hump.
The future realised.
The hopes dashed,
And the dreams gone.
It’s time to awaken,
To accept the fate.
It’s time.
The trees are fruiting,
Shedding their dead weight.
The dead, worthless weight.
It’s time.
The final cord snaps,
Breaking the rope in two.
Leaving an unequal two.
It’s time.
The car’s ready now,
Waiting for evolution.
Time’s up.
The needle’s lost.
This world is just hay.
 © Persephone Muse 25th January 2012.

I don’t often post a poem direct to here, but then I also don’t have days like this. Nor do I advertise my depressive funk on social sites, but today’s apparently not for the normal!

Petty or Perfectly Plausible?

According to an online dictionary, the word petty is described as “Marked by narrowness of mind, ideas or views” or “Of small importance, trivial” or “Marked by meanness or lack of generosity, especially in trifling matters” and “Secondary in importance or rank”. And it got me thinking that being petty is incredibly subjective.

Let me paint the background: I was invited to a Christmas party of a friend that I really did want to attend, and had every intention of attending, until it got closer to the date. Then two things hit me.

One was the fact that it was going to be day 17 of my month, and my life is currently ruled by the days of the month.

Second thing was that the friend in question has lots of friends with children.

So I didn’t go. I gave some lame excuse and didn’t go. Was I petty? Was it my own narrowness of mind, to put something as trivial as other parents and last fertile day before my friend’s party? Or is their issue with me not going their own meanness and lack of generosity?

That’s where I argue that the desriptive word “petty” is totally subjective.

To me, being around other parents, people who beat me in a race I’ve yet to finish, is terrible. I hate it. It depresses me. Why should I ever subject myself to that? Maybe I should learn to cope with it, but I’m not yet. And why should I subject myself to it on the final fertile day of this month, of this year? I can honestly think of nothing much worse than sitting there as I know it’s my last chance and have everyone else discuss their children.

But then, on the other hand, for my friend I simply gave a lame excuse and she is well within her rights to believe the truth was something petty and small. She could easily think I’m the one being mean, narrowminded and uncaring for choosing some lame excuse for not turning up. Or perhaps, to other people, my reasons are trivial and my decision was petty.

Unfortunately, I don’t see how anyone would understand my real reasons so I don’t give them. Has anyone ever cancelled on you because it’s one of their fertile days and they feel uncomfortable around parents? No, because it sounds so incredibly lame and stupid. It was awful last year, I remember the awkwardness in the room with all of her friends and I couldn’t wait to get out of there. Harsh, silly and crazy, but true.

Since expanding this blog to delve more into my issues and the whole conceiving thing, I have found and read some amazing blogs that show me that I am by far alone and crazy in my thoughts. Thank you to Still Counting Stars which had a post that actually made me cry. But none of that means I have the courage to actually say these things out loud to my friends or that I’m able to get over the harsh, silly, crazy elements within me.

At some point, I’m going to have to come to terms with things, or avoid my friend every year when she throws a Christmas party. And it’s only going to get worse. How long before it spreads to family events?

Should I be honest? Should I continue feeling awful for the lame excuse and not being able to get over my own inadequacy to celebrate with her? Or should I just continue hiding?

~ Persephone M

Failing Princess – New Poem

In the end I can only be me,
Nothing else but me.
Always overlooked, always second,
Definitely never first to them.
Even though I try to smile,
Quietly hiding the shame they force,
Underneath I understand,
All I am is beneath average.
They all surpass me,
Eclipsing me without effort.

I don’t have anything in common,
Nothing with which to share.
And yet I’m forced to suffer,
Deep humiliation, high depression.
Everyone knows each other,
Queens of their own domain.
Utilising my only strengths,
And failing as a Princess,
There are too many Queens in this ‘dom,
Enough for little old me.

© Persephone M September 3rd 2011

Belonging – Poem

With the re-design of this site and from my foray into forgotten boxes (see blog about that) here is a totally long lost poem that I wrote in 2002. I have no memory of it whatsoever, but thought I’d share!

I lost you before and I lost me,
I live in fear for it to recur.
Nightmares, cold sweats and screams, Your love blocks it all out.
I know I say things wrong, I know I give you doubt.
Do not doubt, do not stop, You love me, care for me.
Even when everything sucks, You make me smile, you make me laugh.
You are there by my side always, Forgiving, comforting, loving.
Paranoia sets in at night,
Where are you?
Who are you with?
What are you doing?
Do you really love me?
All I have to do is think of you,
You love me, You comfort me, You put up with me,
You make me belong.
I take you and love for granted,
Everything you do I’d miss.
With you I am so happy,
With you I finally belong.

Is it kind of odd that I never write happy stuff now, yet when I was a naive little youth, I did? Especially as I am far happier now than almost a decade ago!

~ Persephone M