Clean.

I think I'm okay, then I know I'm not.  I'm not okay.  I'm not better.  What was I thinking?!  Stupid girl. Stupid.  Wait...

My luteal mind is getting me mixed up.  I know I feel detached and I see things wrong.  I feel things wrong.  I convince myself I am fine.  I am okay. I am alright.  And when the negative phase of PMDD comes back to me, once again, I know I'm not any of those things... I'm really a mess.  And I act like a big mess.  I think like a big mess.  I feel like a big mess.

The world looks different through these eyes... my luteal eyes...  I try not to look in the mirror, because when I do, all I see is a reflection I don't recognize...
No.
I know her well.
I know my reflection:  I see all the dirt and grime and filth on me.  And I keep wanting to wash it off.  I keep taking hot showers, or baths, and I scrub my skin clean as if the water can dissolve time and sadness and ugliness.

When I am under the water and rubbing my skin, I feel like there is some hope I will emerge, face the mirror, and be happy with what I see.

But truly, I do remember, even in my worst state, that my reflection doesn't matter.  Truth is what matters, not perception.  Does it matter what some people think about me?  Does it matter how others have treated me?  Does that define me?  Of course not.

Yes. It does:  Right now, it does.

You see, I look in the mirror for all the reasons people in my life don't want to be close to me.  I see why people leave.  I see why people shove me away.  I see why I'm not worthy of their attention.  What I can not wash away is visible.  It is so clear when I am so crazy.

Broken.

It's been a week with no alcohol.  I feel fine.

I can't focus on something to write, though... I started sentence after sentence and I realized that none of them were sufficient in expressing what is whirling through my mind...  And there are things I can't write, guess...

I broke the habit of drinking which was an attempt "stop feeling sad," or to block the sadness.  Of course, we all know that alcohol only makes you feel sadder.

I wrote a lot when I was sad, didn't I?  It was a different kind of sad, though... different than what I was escaping by drinking in the first place.  It was a shallow sadness, a numb sadness, a tearful sadness sometimes, but my thoughts were sedated, and couldn't really think...  The thinking, really thinking and being completely aware of what is truly sad... that's hard to handle.

I want to be healthy, and yet, part of me wants to be numb, and not think so much.  I can control how I show my emotions when I don't drink when I am sober, and "healthy," but I can't control how I feel.  And sometimes I don't want to feel that deeply.  Honestly, I didn't want to feel deeply for 5 years, really, about the things that were hurting.  

I was never an alcoholic, but I did become dependent on the escape, or the promise of escape, which often never really came... every time, I believed it would sweep me away, sweetly, into a better place in my mind. I believed my heart would suddenly not be broken, or be filled in, the huge gash would fill in and it would be held together, and I could breathe, and... things would feel something else...

Ah, I knew better.  

Snow.

Aw, and look how they enhanced our lives...

At this time, 9 years ago, I was in labor with twins, and laying next to a window, watching snow fall heavily on the flat hospital roof.  It was induced labor since Stella was having some trouble with the fluid in her amniotic sac, so it was painful, but not natural, in any sense.  It was controlled by doctors.  At this point, I was still able to walk around or sit in a purple leather recliner and rock, and not just lay in bed.  I would have to get into bed every two hours and be "woken" every two hours to have suctioned, pad monitors placed on my belly to make sure the twins weren't in distress.  They weren't.  In fact, Michael was often sleeping when they were checking for movement and proper heart-rates and they'd have to wake him with this vibrator thing, poor little guy.  I'm sure it was quite an ordeal for him, the whole induced labor and birthing process since when they finally decided to do a c-section, he was in "shock" and took a moment to breathe.  He kept his eyes shut too, like, "Fuck this shit, why'd you pull me out of my happy spot."

So in these hours, and all night I was in labor and they finally pulled me off the labor-inducing medication they were using as the first line of "attack" because it brought them on two hard and too fast and I was dilating...  I was alone most of this time... Sam was sleeping and I had been awake since 8 am the day before.  I hadn't slept at all the first night.  I kept taking hot showers, and letting water beat onto my belly and back... it felt good... and I liked being clean...  Otherwise, I rocked in my chair and listened to music on an iPhone and tried to breathe through the pain in the darkness of the room, and hoped it wouldn't be too much longer... I was ready for my babies...

I wasn't dilating, though, even after they broke my water, and put me on another medication through an IV, which rendered me to my uncomfortable bed, and three monitors on my belly, which made it impossible to move, or they'd have to re-adjust them to find the heart beats and the contractions...  I was trying so hard not to move, I remember.  It hurt so much more, not to be able to shower, or pace through the pain, or listen to music and rock.

My babies were never in distress through it all... my body just wasn't opening up for them to come out.  I am betting I would have carried them to 40 weeks, even though 38 weeks is full term for twins.  I might have even gone over.  They were already huge babies for twins.  They would have been even bigger.  Gees.

I remember Sam was just telling me we couldn't have them on the 13th.  I had to wait until the next day, the 14th.  Even numbers were better, but we especially didn't want a birthday on the 13th.  Sigh...  I hadn't eaten in a few days, only clear liquids, so I am sure I just stared at him like, "Yeah, buddy, you do this shit."  This night, the 13th, I was awake all night.  Sam slept, and I was awake.  The next morning they drugged me, and gave me an epidural to make me sleep.  I was so weak and tired.

But this night... I was just waiting for my babies, and listening to music... I couldn't wait to meet them...

And the snow accumulated outside... a big January snowstorm...  And it was peaceful in the maternity wing... it was just me...  and I waited patiently to meet my little friends.