Happiness?

I have been catching up on blogs and emails, because we've been away for nearly four weeks.

One of the emails was from my ranting uncle(s), with more rants. Nasty, evil rants. Personal attacks - on me, on Craig, on my parents, on my siblings. It was very disturbing, and I didn't sleep well last night because of it.

Another email was from a cousin. She said (amongst other things), "be happy". It made me think.

Will I ever be happy again?

What would make me happy?

The answer is pretty simple. Just give me Freyja, Kees and Jet back, and I will be happy.

But that's impossible of course. So maybe being happy is also impossible.

Others have been blogging about their confrontations with the expectation of happiness following the birth of a healthy, living baby after a loss. Because (of course) once you have a healthy, living baby, everything must be ok again. Happiness should be yours for the taking.

But it's not really like that.

Dead babies don't just go away. Happiness doesn't just happen.

I can't make myself happy. I can't will myself to be happy. I can't just pretend that my children don't matter.

The ranting uncles wrote in their nasty email that it's a sad story, my three dead children, but I should not "act" sad, I should not be "lazy" and I should go back to work, and I should get on with my life. And that's one of the bits of the emails which is less offensive. They have also decided that my husband is "trailer trash" and is "sponging" financially off me. He is also too lazy to work. He is apparently uneducated, and really, couldn't I have afforded a better man? The ranting continues, insulting my siblings, my parents, etc, etc.

Of course all our contact with them will cease. At least I hope it will. I hope that next time they get roaring drunk, they won't feel the need to send me more emails with their "insights".

Happiness? I would grab it if I could.

Fucking nightmare

I have so much to say, and no-one to say it to.

I was thinking this week that I'm really angry at the way my life has turned out. Not just angry, but furious really.

I'm angry that my three children ARE ALL DEAD.

I'm angry that I'm no longer the person I was.

I'm angry that Craig and I no longer had that happy future we thought we had.

I'm angry that my career has gone down the toilet.

I'm angry that people think I should be "over it", and should go back "to work". As if they don't think I want all that. Of course I want to be bloody "over it", but I've come to realise that I never will be. My life changes to accommodate all the shit and death that's come our way, but I will never be "over it". And as if I wouldn't rather be working, and earning a few more million euros before retiring. As if. As if I choose to be this anxious freaked-out fat person, who remembers nothing. As if.

I'm so angry with all those stupid people, I wish I could punch them in the face.

I don't even want to go on this holiday. I'd rather stay at home, locked in our apartment, with the cats.

I hate it that the cats aren't here. I don't trust my friend to look after them properly. I hate it that she has EVERYTHING that I don't have. That she has EVERYTHING that I should have. Fuck, I hate it so much.

Why the fuck did I not get that? Why the fuck did I get what I have??? WHY? WHY?

I hate it that not only am I unhappy most of the time, I make my husband unhappy. I can't even be happy for other people when something good happens to them. I just get fucking angry and wonder why it can't be us.

Life is just SHIT and I don't know how the fuck I'm going to cope with it for however many years. I don't even have anything to look forward to. I'm just going to get older, and probably fatter, and before you know it, I'll be an old lady. An old lady with cats and three dead children.

What a fucking nightmare.