T-12

 In 12 more hours, my child I have dreamed of for more than a decade 

Will no longer be snuggled underneath my skin, but instead in my arms (IA)

Surreal, still.

I am 39 weeks today. Baby is just as stubborn as me, breech and refusing to turn despite me doing everything in my power to convince him. 

Last time we saw him, his head was cradled right under my rib cage, he was facing left, one leg in my left pelvis, the other in my left rib. We don't even know how he's managing the moves in there.

But, I won't have to guess anymore. I'll have him here, in front of me. Living breathing tangible. 

I don't know how I'm feeling. Shocked scared numb excited overwhelmed. I'm ready and not ready. 

Bismillah. Let this new story begin.

32.5 weeks

 I'm sitting at a psychiatry clinic with S. 

He's just started the FDA approved nasal version of Ketamine, for treatment resistent depression. 

I'm watching him as my son kicks and rolls around in my belly, knocking me on the insides. Watching anothrr son mourn his mother, tears pooling at the edge of his eyes. Telling me he can picture her, he misses her, so so much. 

I wonder if my son will love me the same way. I wonder if my son will mourn me like this when I'm gone. 

19

 Weeks.

What a whirl wind. From hearing that first heartbeat, to approaching every milestone with trepidation and fear- is the fetal pole there? The egg yolk? The amniotic sack? Is there growth? Is the heartbeat continuing?- I can’t believe we made it through. Alhamdolilah.

Sometimes I still look at my tiny little belly in awe. I have waited so so so long for this. Now that we are mostly out of the woods, I’ve finally let myself embrace the happiness. And God, the joy. It  fills every fiber of my being. It’s like holding your breath and struggling and fighting with no end in sight for so so long- 12 years long - and finally finding warm, golden, joyful, balming relief.

Not to say S is magically sober, he’s not though he’s trying. Not to say I’m not stressed anymore about Pakistan. Or there’s no drama. Or that my first trimester was terrific (it wasn’t, it was absolutely dreadful with the non stop nausea, not being to keep anything down even water, or the weight loss, or the hair loss, or the exhaustion) But I KNOW now that I won’t be alone. Someone out there will exist who is mine. It’s. I don’t know how to explain it in words.

Surreal.

This little baby of mine I’ve dreamt so so much of, every dream a boy and Ofcourse, we found out it IS a boy…. I just can’t wait to meet. To hold. 

This one is for you my love. My unnamed child. The soul of my soul. I have waited an eternity to meet you. And mama can hardly wait to have you in her arms.

More on this later,

e

 5 weeks today (mA)

Bismillah. 

 

I spent so so so long chasing this moment, I never thought about what comes after. The first time i saw these two lines I was in denial. I woke up a very sleepy S who was equally in shock. He said let’s wait till the blood test the next day.

I didn’t react the way i thought I would. I didn’t cry. I didn’t fall to my knees. To be honest, after so much disappointment, it’s still hard to believe. 

When the nurse was preparing the needle Monday morning, she asked me if I had cheated and tested. I did. She asked how quickly those lines turned red. I said barely within the minute.

“Well, then, you’re pregnant.”

“No chance of a false positive?”

“Nope. Not at all”

Of course the next few days are still critical. The HCG needs to double. I need to get the heartbeat. I still need about 45 more of those shots in my bum every day that make it so sore for me to walk.

But you know what was heartbreaking? 

When they called me Monday afternoon to confirm the HCG numbers were in range of where they should have been, you hugged me finally. And I could smell it on you. I knew that while I napped from sheer exhaustion of hormones and waiting and relief and anxiety, you decided to relapse. Again.

It’s been three days. We had decided to only tell my mom, but I had to tell her by myself because you’re too drunk. We didn’t do anything on New Years because you were too drunk to care, or drive. You did call me a choot and bhenchod again. I thought that would stop when I got pregnant, but no. 

I don’t know what to think. I don’t know who to blame, but myself. I trusted my mom who said do Istikhara and keep going, because I thought this would finally be enough for you. I thought we would be happy. 

You’ve yet again ruined this core memory for me. First time I got a positive pregnancy test in 12 years only to have you too drunk to remember any of it. You clumsily try to be there for me. Make me breakfast. Hug me but you smell like a bar, the cheap kind. Try to give me a shot but almost with the wrong needle and the wrong medication. 

I sometimes wonder what I was thinking. Why did I think I would have the chance at a normal life too. That you would magically just be ok. Even though I pushed you for the withdrawal shot. Found you a new therapist. Etc etc. But nothing ever changes does it. New job new city new house now a baby. I keep dragging you forward, you are firmly stuck in the past. 

It’s so sad. I can’t rejoice. Can’t be happy. Don’t know how to react. Wonder if I’ll ever forget how you wounded my heart in this moment. 

I don’t know.

Can’t sleep. Next blood test in two hours. They will confirm if pregnancy is moving along or a chemical. You will be too drunk or recovering to come with me, I’ll drive there alone. Ofcourse.

My heart. 

Making dua I get to keep this blessing only if I can do justice by it, and not cause any trauma to any innocent soul.

e

 The last few days have been so insane. 

I’ve been preparing for this embryo transfer for weeks now…months. Today it finally happened. 

Now the waiting begins.

I wont lie, I cried as it happened. Finally seeing some umeed after years of disappointment. 

The progesterone shots are no joke. They told me I wouldn’t be able to walk. They weren’t lying. 

Tiny little anxious needle phobic me, who used to cry watching anyone else taking shots, now taking a three inch needle in my side everyday… for the next 57 more days.

Yes I’m counting. Ofcourse.

Regardless of the outcome, and I’m trying to prepare myself for any eventuality… I’m very very proud of myself. The discipline and side effects and patience and resilience needed for something like this cannot be underestimated. And I’ve tried to be graceful through it despite the (surprise!) Sasural drama. But then again, what else is new?

InshAllah. To finding conviction and solace in whatever He desires. Ameen.

e

Grief

 The doctor walked in to the acupuncture appointment today, for a change. Her sour faced side-kick followed suit, but atleast it wasn’t just her.

'When's the transfer?'

'Week of Dec 18'

Some other details later, she tells me they'll be putting the needles in my back today.

I feel my heart skip a beat on the inside. At this point my back might be one of the few places I haven't been stabbed with a needle.

You would think the phobia would've dissipated by now. It's gotten worse.

As I turn to lie face down my hands are sweaty. I am starting to shake.

The first needle pierces my skin, along the spin. I yelp. I start to hyperventilate.Breathe, eeda, breathe.

Poke. Poke. Poke. 10 along my spine. One in each wrist. One in each ankle. One by each foot.

They leave a caller in my hand I can press if I'm in pain. I'm in pain. I move half an inch and the needle in my foot pushes against the mattress, going deeper in my foot. 

I'm crying. I started crying when they put the first needle in. I cry the next next ten minutes. Tears falling down to the floor. I'm laying spread eagled on my belly. I cannot move.

.........

Nothing about this is easy. No part. The tests. The medication. The shots. The blood work. The supplements. The hope. The call "you're not pregnant". 7 Iui's. 7! Most women give up after 3. I'm a hopeless optimist.

And now IVF. My first round. 

As a child I used to pray that God not test me with looks (I had been bullied for being scrawny and dark) and with children. I ended up growing up to be somewhat beautiful (or atleast that's what they tell me though I remain somewhat in denial). I assumed God wouldn't test me with the children bit. At least not for long anyways. 

It's been 12 long years. 12 years of longing. 12 years of feeling like a failure. My body which couldn't provide the one main duty it was built to do. Test after test after home remedies, medications, supplements. You have no fibroids. No cysts. No PCOS. No Endometriosis. Never missed a period. Never been late. No blocked tubes. No ovulation issues. Nothing. They can't find a thing.

I remember when I got my results I had cried. Everyone said no problems was a good thing. I said if I knew what it was, I could fix it. How do I fix when nothing is wrong?

I would long for children from the pits of my soul, as early as 12/13 years of age. Someone to love more than myself, more than I loved anyone else. Someone to care for, serve, nurture. I was motherly as a child, younger cousins always drawn to me. I still have plenty who reach out for marriage advice, school advice, career advice, boy advice, parent advice...

But I wanted someone my own. My flesh and blood.

When I was 14 and diagnosed with scoliosis, the first thing I asked the doctor was if it would affect my ability have children. He laughed. My nani stared at me horrified at my lack of sharam. The doctor reassured me that it was a valid question, and no, it wouldn't affect anything at all.

Why me then.

Why is it that I, who fought to get married at 19 (and got married at 23) just so I could have kids young, had to wait 12 years? Why am I the one who has gone to countless baby showers, gender reveals, kids birthday parties, am still the only one sitting alone, still having to tell people, no, I don't have kids. Yes I've been married a long time. Yes we do want children. Yes we have seen the doctor. No we didn't use birth control ( and piss God off which apparently is why you can't have kids) etc etc.

I'm tired. I'm tired of the longing. Of the sense of failure that consumes my being. Of the lack of understanding from anyone around me. Of feeling so so alone. Of not being invited to birthdays or play dates because my worth in society is measured my ability to reproduce. Of.

God, the dawai. The back and forth with insurance. Of paperwork. Of ultrasounds. Of having my privacy invaded repeatedly ( no it doesn't get easier). Of needles. In my arm. In it belly. In my feet. My hairline. My calves. My wrists. Of the side effects. Nausea. Upset stomach. Dizziness. Anger. Water weight gain. Acne. Of the black and blues when S accidentally struck a nerve in my belly injecting me and having blood everywhere. Of the sheer trauma of having to go through it again. Shots EVERY SINGLE DAY for THREE months. Three! I want to scream. 

This isn't fair. But then, what is? Is it fair my sister has epilepsy? Is it fair my brother has ADHD? Is it fair Nani died, getting burnt from a fire in her own home? Is any of this fair? 

We don't get to be judge jury victim. I try to remind myself of having faith in Allah swt. Of the rewards of patience. Of not  complaining. But it's so so hard.

So I talk about it. As much as I can. As much I'm misunderstood. As much as I'm called Besharam and don't have Haya. Why don't we talk about it? Why isn't it acceptable? We talk about the grief that comes with the loss of life, the absence of someone you love, but isn't infertility just that? The absence of someone I have loved before I even knew what it was I was feeling. Of a longing that comes from so deep within my soul, so guttural, so raw, so human, it has no cure. 

So I grieve. The reality I wanted to be mine but isn't. The fact that I'll be 36 when I have my first, when I should've been long done. 

I have waited a lifetime for my life to start.

.................

My siblings are suffering and I don't know how to help them. I feel so guilty at my privilege. I'm living the life they deserve. They had a home in Canada. Friends. Family. A future. Until abbu changed his mind and forcefully (atleast for Dj) took them back. They're trapped in a place they don't recognize. With people they don't understand. Locked up in their bedrooms all day. Depression consuming their being. Refusing to leave the room. Refusing to study, work, meet with anyone, thrive. Ammi calls me crying every day. Every single day for the last, teo/three years? I can't remember the last time I heard her happy. 

And I don't know what to do. Sometimes I just want to drop everything and go home. Talk to them. Convince them. Look at yourself through my eyes. You don't deserve this. Fight for your life. You only have one. 

But they won't listen. I've tried texting. Calling. No reply. They refuse. Even when I was in Pakistan I tried all 30 days to try to coax him out of his room so I could talk to him, and he wouldnt.

So I scream into the void. In my dreams I'm chasing after the. Trying to get to them. Protect them. Pull them out. I stay awake half the night chest beating. When I wake my tshirt is soaked in sweat, my heart is pounding, and I am afraid.

............

When I asked the doctor what I should do to prepare for the egg retrieval and now the embryo transfer, he said only one thing. Don't worry about the supplements. Don't worry about what you eat. Don't worry about the exercise. Just do not get stressed out.

.

.

.

L.O.L

...........

Sigh. To another sleepless.heart.thudding.night.

e

Kya haal hai tumhara, yeh sawal keye baithay ho

Jantay nahee ke tum hi mera yeh haal keye baithay ho

Chiragh bujh ne ko hain, par hans rahay ho

Saray diye khud bhuja ke, kya kamal keye baithay ho

 first - to the one nameless reader of this blog, I have tried to comment unsuccessfully several times on yours but it errors out. I am truly sorry for the loss of your mother. May Allah swt raise her ranks in Jannat ul Firdous and give you and your family the courage to bear this loss, Ameen. I know all pain pales in comparison to the loss of a parent, but I hope you find respite in that one day you will be reunited in the most beautiful of places inshAllah, and have eternity to fill each other in with all the missed events, milestones, and meaningless nothings of your lives.

_______________________________

i thought things were going well. 

S had been sober 3 months. longest ever, in 12 years. that's crazy, isn't it? I had never before known what 90 days of sobriety looked like.

normal. i would catch myself wondering, is this how normal couples live? they go out for dinner with friends and come back unafraid of another drunken disaster? they trust each other. they laugh together. there's no fear of impending doom every 48 hours. they dont hold their breath because they KNOW nothing bad is awaiting them just around the corner? no rummaging through the corners of the house finding bottles, empty or full, no secretly planning to empty and toss them out without being caught.

a whole being of existing, a whole way of being lifted from me like a burden I didnt know I had been carrying.

I went for umra. I cried in sujood. I stood in front of the kaaba and cried. i didn't deserve this happiness, this peace. The pieces falling together. 

We did ivf. i had 8 frozen embryo's, one of which (or hopefully more) would have one day called me mama.

i have waited 12 years to hear a tiny little voice call out that name. a scrawny pink fist reaching for me in the dark.

it's been too long. the waiting has destroyed me. so much time lost. so much life.

______________________________

we came back. it hasn't been a month. he relapsed 24 hours after arrival. again 5 days ago.

the berating has gotten worse. the cursing. this time, it's personal. it's not just me anymore. it's abbu, its all the things abbus says. you are your father's daughter.

i am. all his good and bad. yes i am. i stare him down defiantly. i will not be embarrassed of my lineage. however crazy they are, they are me and i am them.

you are controlling. you belittle me. humiliate me. disrespect me. that's why i don't talk to you anymore.

12 years of waiting later.

12 years of silence and sacrifice and keeping his respect and nights spent wandering the streets to escape the abuse, locking myself up in spare bedrooms to get away from his anger and aggression.

I am the problem? I was the problem all along?

my mind feel like it's slowly broken. my reality seems like a figment of my imagination. i go to a buzurg in Madinah, one I have always respected.

he tells me, when you play with the dark it plays with you. 

I have been played alright.

he tells me, what khaloo did to me was my own fault. i approached him because of an unfulfilled first love (?!?!?!) everything bad that has ever happened to me, was my own fault.

i am in shock. my insides churn. molestation? the addiction? everything that came after?

how was any of this my fault?

and hearing it in front of S has only emboldened him to believe he the victor, the innocent, the pure. I am the problem. 

no one in this world says to him point blank, YOU messed up. no one. no one dares. even our therapist skirts around it. it has made him a monster, because then he feels entirely justified in all his anger and language towards me.

i am so so tired.

there's nothing left in my marriage, for me. it feels like a scam I have been playing for so long just to pretend I am happy. to pretend i have a companion that fulfilled me.

i am tired. i can no longer play this game, anymore.

___________________________

e

 I want to write but i dont know where to begin.

I didnt realize it had been 3 years since I last actively wrote. So much happened. and yet nothing at all.

I guess the most important of all things was S's DUI. It was devastating when it happened, but this is the longest he has been sober now. In the last 6 months he's relapsed 5 or 6 times, as opposed to relapsing 5 times in a week.

I guess you could say I'm counting that as a blessing. 

But things aren't the way they used to be. And I need to be accountable for that. 

I am tired. I have been tired for a very long time for all the shit he put me through. The strip clubs. The 'massages'. Gambling. Lying. The accidents, finding him facedown at a parking lot with a banged up eye. The yelling screaming and the cursing. 

Yesterday, he cursed at me again. I slapped him. There was a lot of screaming that followed, including pushing me into a corner, spitting on my face, throwing things around, cursing in front of abbu. 

I was numb. 

I don't recognize who I've become. 

When the times are great they're really great. He's respectful, kind, helps with everything around the house, shows me love in his own weird way. He doesn't look at me look at me anymore that's true, rarely approaches me or acknowledges my existence, calls me beautiful etc. It is a lonely existence but I make do with it, mostly because sobriety alone has been such a big blessing. 

I was just telling him the other day that we are finally in a good place after so so long. 

Ha. 

Spoke too soon.

There's too much trauma. Too much has happened. I was always afraid of that. Always told him that by the time you are ready for me, I may not be around, or may not be the same anymore.

I am not the same.

I am not the girl who wouldn't dream of hurting a fly. 

I actually slapped a grown man. My husband.

Why?

I didn't want to be cursed at. I didn't want to be pushed or shoved away. I didn't want violence to be the answer and yet I responded with violence. Why?

Because I have seen my mother been slapped, punched, cursed at, screaming, shoving, shouting, all of it. I didn't want any man to think I would be ok with it. 

But you're damned either way aren't you? As a woman?

If I can't stand being cursed, what do I do? Where do I go? Who will marry a 35 year old childless reject?

If I stand up for myself, well. I was being shoved into a corner 2 minutes later and spat on. And cursed more. He would've punched me if I hadn't screamed for his dad to intervene.

What options do you have as a woman to escape mistreatment? injustice? violence?

Why is our bar for men so low?

People see all the fake pretense, the nice clothes and the car and the house and think, what a lovely couple. Such great people.

It's not real.

But he's not having an affair? He hasn't hit you? He hasn't slapped your face? He doesn't stop you from meeting your parents? 

Where do we draw the line? When do I say, even this is not ok?

I don't know where to begin taking stock of my hurt and my pain. And frankly, my anger.

Exhausted.

e

Nani

it had been a beautiful dholki. 

the kind where all my behnon walay armaan poore ho gaye thay. 

I didn't look at cost. I splurged. Fresh flowers, jhoola, photobooth, backdrop. 

Deej and I had gone to saddar the day before and grabbed strands upon strands of paper flowers, fabric, fairy lights, now interwoven in the iron staircase. 

everyone was happy. 

Nani was...etheral. radiant. her hair done, left to hang in loose curls on her back. 

her ears shimmering with the gold amethyst studs mama had given me. 

in a moment of pure joy amidst the dancing, i had held her hands and lifted her up. we held hands and swung them up and down..

finally a moment of happiness for our family. 

we stayed awake late into the night, finally falling asleep at 5 am from sheer exhaustion. 

'farida api, nani ko aag lag gayee' 

words i will never forget. 

i sprang out of bed, raced downstairs. 

oh god. oh god. oh god. 

the strewn clothes on the floor, black, simmering. 

the smell. 

i ran towards her room. she seemed exhausted, but alive. 

ya Allah, she was unharmed, alive, breathing. 

 my brain on autopilot, we got her to the car. to the wheel chair. to aga khan er. then to patel. 

three days of begging Allah swt for rehem. 

saturday, 4:30am. 

mama woke me up. i was sleeping next to nana. 

'farida utho, nani ke paas jana hai' 

my heart knew. it was time. 

i sprang out of bed. barely pulled on my shawl, chappals, and ran out. 

 

in the car, a text. 

 'inna lilahi wa inna ilaihi rajeeyoun' 

'im so sorry' 

 i sat stunned. 

ammi didn't know. did abbu? 

he was tearing through karachi streets at full speed. 

i couldn't scream. i couldn't cry. 

i sat stunned in disbelief. 

 i still can't recall the next few days. i don't want to remember. 

i remember a few things. 

i remember her smile. 

it lit up her face, whatever room she was in, everyone around her, and our hearts. 

 always that innocent mischievious twinkle in her eye. 

her dainty dainty fingers and perfectly shaped nails. 

the scaly palm of her hands, recovering from decades long psoriosis. 

 'nani, dard nahee hota?' 

'aray beti - ab to kuch nahee' 

we shared the same foot size. narrow long feet. 

we loved swapping sandals. 

i had bought her a pair of warm, fuzzy slippers for her, to keep her cosy in the winter. 

i loved her saris. i loved rummaging in her drawers because all her knick-knacks were....her. meticulously arranged. preserved. 

it always astounded me how carefully she held onto things. 

zaya nahee hona chaheye. kuch bhi. 

her long silver brown hair. she had used too much mehendi, we laughed it was bright orange like dadis. shaadi se pehle kala kerlejeye ga nani. 

what do i even say. how do i explain how i felt when i entered the house and saw her, after my flight. the hug. 

how do i put into words that memory of sitting in hideous plastic chairs in sunny medico, while they gathered the items on our list, in cosy comfortable silence. just 2 days before.

how do i put in words how she fought for me. took me to the dentist. the back doctors. physiotherapy. she was always, always, always, watching out for me. medical, emotional...

dua...tahajjud. 

mere sar pe se saya uth geya hai. 

how i put into this feeling of feeling so exposed? 

how do i put into words this feeling.... 

i will never see her again. hold her again. 

hug her again. 

bury my nose in her shoulder. 

recite salam with her after namaz. 

recite naats with her. 

sing nani teri morni ko. 

do groceries, play antakshari, play sequence, 

learn the right quanity of jafel javetri in garam masala, 

learn how to cut a gharara, 

finally write down every relative and their birth dates.. 

this ache in my heart. 

how do i quantify what your loss means to me Nani? 

i was not prepared. 

we were not prepared. 

the lights were still in the staircase when we got back home, ready to tell nana the news. 

the flowers were still taped to the walls. 

the agony with which i took everything down, spread out the chandni on the floor for your final departure from your home. 

 

nani, mein ne to abhi kuch seekha hi nahee tha. abhi to kuch waqt hua hi nahee tha. 

achi nani pyari nani rootha roothi chordh de 

come back

dil abhi bhara nahee. 

-nawasi

 God has it really been a year since I last wrote?

time flies when you're ...... well, not exactly having fun.

2 minute synopsis of the last year - bought a house in July, yay. a week later found bottles in the house, so not yay. stayed at our apartment for a week since we still had the lease. Sept went to VA for S's bro's baat pakki. October did a roadtrip to Denver with S's family. Nov S's dad moved in with us. October we also went to Turkey to meet my family half-way, had a week long family vacay. December we did a family vacay with Ss family to Orlando.

Throughout all of this was ofcourse the ongoing addiction, drinking every two days, fights, etc etc. 

By Jan, S had made another trip to a strip club. I will remind my non-existent audience this was his fourth trip, and I had warned him if he did so again I would leave. So I got his dad involved. and I did leave, to San Fran to bum at a friend's couch. Yay me. only took almost a decade to stand up for myself.

3 weeks later, S had checked into a rehab. round 2. he refused to see me before he left, so I flew in the next day. and then Dallas decided to fuck me over yet again, because my life wasnt enough, by having a snowstorm. in Dallas. 

and not the pretty kind with snowflakes but the kind that shuts down the roads the heat the hot water and electricity while you are stranded at home without your husband and have only his 70 year old father for support. a week later, I decided the US of A was done royally ruining my life, so I fled to Pakistan.

I stayed in Pakistan for almost 6 weeks, end of feb to mid-april. the longest stretch I have ever had with my parents in a decade. it was....eventful. reminded me of all my past traumas and why I had wanted to marry early in the first place. but also reminded me of ME. a human with her own dreams and wants and an army of love behind her should i chose to need it. during this time Ss sister came down for a week as well, for shopping. that whole story is to come later.

S left rehab after about 50 days or so.....only to go on a  solo trip and end up at a casino for 4 days or so. he also did one of his infamous, wont pick up the phone and lie to me after that he was sleeping gigs, except his brother went to his hotel room and found it empty, so that was busted. 

just writing this makes me realize what a hellhole my life has been.

anyways, despite everyones best advice i flew back to Dallas to figure out where my life stood with S and what I wanted to do. we tried a fresh start. I had my birthday 4 days after I came. 5th day, I tested positive for covid. 

then began the 15 day quarantine in my room, entirely reliant on the one person who I did not want to reliant on, medications, steroids, fever, body aches, asthma attacks etc etc. by the time I was out Ramadan was over, Eid happened (he drank the night before Eid, but that's also tradition is it not?) cursed me out as we got ready for Eid prayer, and played a saint the rest of the day.

but then what else is new?

it was then a month to Ss brother's wedding. I was told we would be hosting about 4 people at our house, and also having a dawat of about 30 ppl. the house was empty. between the turmoil of the past year we had gotten no furniture, and nothing was delivering before 3 months. I went nuts, trying to order furniture online, get second hand lamps, paintings plants etc, some semblance of normalcy into our life. we flew to VA for the wedding, and then I hosted Ss family friends while also doing a dawat for 30 ppl where I made majority of the food. Ss sister got upset with me because my dawat was better than hers and i got more compliments (no shit, this is real) and hasnt spoken to me since. this was 2 weeks ago.

during these two weeks I have found 4 cans of beer and 4 bottles of vodka with S insisting he will stop drinking. he also ended up at the same casino and didnt come home one night, withdrawing a 1000$ he maintains he didnt use for anything other than to buy cigarettes. he came home and promised he was done, and we both agreed we needed something good to look forward to. something positive.

so i agreed to start fertility treatments. got my ultrasound done, and the day i was supposed to get on clomid to start the iui process, found S had been drinking again. i showed the bottle to his dad, who yelled at him, and in turn S yelled at me and called me a C*^^*^^% in front of his dad, and told me to leave.

i was in a hotel the past two days and only just got home. for what, i dont know. to talk divorce? to talk....what? apologies? does anything even matter anymore? how do i restart my life now? is it even worth it?

my brain is numb with all these questions. the only thing that i am allowing myself to feel other than the enveloping numbness is regret. why the hell did i marry him in the first place? what the fuck was i thinking?

July 7 marks 9 years to our marriage. 9 years of utter chaos. an alcohol addiction to destroyed me probably more than it destroyed him. stuck in limbo.

i have never felt more alone or isolated. i am stuck in the guest bedroom of our house as i have been many many many times before. too many times to count. i have spent half of my last 2 years fleeing from him and the other trying desperately to believe i too can have the normal married-with-two-kids life i so crave. i guess some things are not meant to be, and i dont know how many more shocks to my system i need to have in order to finally believe that i wont get what i have been fighting for. a chance at a 'normal' life where my biggest concern is how to potty train my kid, not which casino or strip club my husband is lying drunk at.

how did my life get so fucked up anyway? i wish i knew.

i guess i know nothing of what i thought i did.

i dont need you.

i dont need you

i dont.

god.

the tumbling

i guess i should write.

my mom prays one day i will get the courage to write like i used to. i guess she means with flair and raw biting honesty.
i guess that will mean i need to remove these balls lodged inside my chest. the nearest one is just behind my lip, inside a bleeding gum. its connected to another, another, another...all the way down my spine into my intestines and up into the narrow veins in my brain.
i cannot think. i cannot feel. i can't seem to dislodge it because so much of my sanity sits poised on this carefully balanced structure and without it i feel i might shatter.

__________

the therapist calls it emdr. i feel like it is inception.
i remember specific memories and hold them in my hands until they burn and i am a slobbering mess. in my closet hiding lest he hears, while my therapist watches me on a tiny 3 inch screen unravel and dissolve and tells me he's here, he's here, focus, breathe.
i focus, i swing until my exhausted eyes numb the scalding hot memory. i break.
and repeat. and repeat. the pyramid of newspaper glass and thorny scrunched balls boxes i haven't opened in many years starts to come tumbling down.
the noise is deafening inside me, i lay crumpled on my sofa unable to move.

____________

later the next day A messages me out of the blue. i guess it must be so.
in another life i would've said he might've felt the tumbling across the country. in another life i was naive.
the tumbling has allowed enough of my voice to come through. i protest. i demand. i blubber out my anger. my hurt. i hold onto my fledgling ego and self-respect and scream in gently typed texts my confusion and pain.
'how can i make it better?'
promises to not abandon, a try and keeping the sanity, revelations of some sweetness that cause more pain than balm.
'i waited outside your door'

i still feel.....used. discarded. not good enough. never good enough. lacking. disappointing. small.
so utterly utterly small.

_______________

the tumbling has dislodged people i forgot to take to court.
i digress, i didnt forget. i just didnt feel i had the right to.
i picture them one by one and rise in inches remembering i too have right to ask.
'why did you hurt me?'
' why did you leave me?'

why have i done this to myself?

i don't know. shif called me dil phek.
i was. i am.
i don't know what i was looking for.
a channel for my intensity i couldn't handle?
tenderness i need to balm my old grown-too-fast heart?

why did i always seek men?
why is it that no matter what kind of love i provided, friendship, emotional, physical, sexual, mental, whatever it was....just never good enough.
what is it about me that caused them all to disappear?
either i chose the weakest of men, or the strongest of men chose the weakness in me.

_________________

im heartbroken.
i feel S is one of them and yet i don't want to add his name to the list.
i dont know why.
i think it is less that i want to give up on him and more i can't admit i have yet again loved the wrong one the wrong way and lost again.
i dont want another failure, the one i have given the most too.
and so i persist on loving him when he is the most unlovable. i persist on loving him when my heart is splitting apart with the angst he causes me.
i resolutely stop listening when parents tell me to leave, when my friends call it abuse, when i am cowering in the car because his drunk self is hammering on the glass snarling at me.
i try and remember the fledgling tenderness.
i use it to the glue all the newspaper and the tissue and the plastic and the thorn scrunched up bits and pieces of me and stuff it back down my throat least i fall apart again.

where would i go?
yes the freedom and the lightness of spirit, yes the reyhaai....but where?
a lifetime of abandonment and loss?
seeking and being used again and again and again?
i am so vulnerable right now any misleading intention masked in 2 honeyed words would be enough to let me melt and be abused... so where would i run?

no place is safe anymore. my room. the car. my mind. the closet. the world. other men.
what if i find myself trapped behind another white door in another city with another man on the other side?

kaisi reyhaai jab yeh andar sarah hi itna zehar se bhara hai?


_______________

what i wanted then and all i want even now.

a love that will not destroy me.
a love that will consume me and give me back more than what i give to it.
a relief wider than ocean and a tenderness like a crumpled petal
a sunshine mind that sings alongside my voice
a blue eternal sky and a togetherness that life and its gham cannot break apart
an ' i know you' that traverses down our shins with roots depp into the earth
a heart that understands when i am voiceless

i live in the unreal and i cannot cannot
pull anyone in here with me
i can't get out
i can't find anyone here

it is like inception. i am in a creation of my own mind with no relief.
i am alone and all i see and feel is fear
and the tumbling

_______________________

so much has happened.

s ended in the hospital with a black and blue eye, goose egg.
midnight calls to tell me he may not be alive. he may never walk again. he...
doesnt remember anything.
(he's ok now, i'm not)
10 days later, frantic flights halfway across the world because ammi in the hospital
N got a divorce.
the shattered sighs of my brother cutting across my heart as I pull myself together, watching him sign divorce papers for the love of his life
rushing back to a relapsing husband
chaos
world pandemic. american civil war.
return of A.
we bought a house for stability
its better. nothings better. everything is.
i dont know.

i am not myself. i dont know who i am anymore
i thought id always find myself in the madness but now, living for him and him and her and him and him and her and him and her , i
don't know where in the equation i even have space for myself
probably nowhere

i started therapy. meaningless mumble in circles
xanax hlps my heart from breaking out of my chest
the unfortunate side-effect of which is that my heart
seeks to break out of my chest even more
baaghi

i hide in the complete destruction of my eyelids
drooping heavy with sighs that are uttered from other throats
curled on a bed of embers
shreds and pieces
flesh stained sheets of flesh
im wrapped unwrapped neither here nor
there, but everywhere
i see myself, but dont
see myself at all