I'm Done.

::::UPDATE::::
It looks like maybe the drama's almost over. It seems like most of it was caused, as it usually is, by a lack of communication. No one wanted things to end up the way they did and I'm pretty sure we're all willing to work to make it better. My heart feels lighter now than it has in a long time.
I'm not ready to make a final decision on the fate of this blog, it hurts me to think that years of time and effort, thoughts and pictures would be killed off, but I'm not ready to actively use it again.

ORIGINAL POST
I'm done. Done with the drama, done with the hurt feelings, done trying. It seems like no matter what I do it's wrong. So I'm not going to try anymore. This was supposed to be fun: a place to share what's going on in my life, pictures of the kids, etc. But familial drama started becoming more and more prevalent. It's not fun anymore. So this is the final posting here.

When I was in labor with Will, I was scared. No, it was more than that. I was terrified. It was too early for him to be delivered with no problems, but if he stayed inside me he would almost certainly have died. He almost did while I was in labor. More than once. Once my contractions picked up, I was in a considerable amount of pain. I didn't want to see anyone, didn't want to talk to anyone because I was afraid that if I tried to talk, I would cry. Or vomit. Or both. I'm the kind of person who keeps things very close. Most people have a mask that they hide behind when facing the world. I have a brick wall. And I don't let anyone in.

Labor was just the beginning of the nightmare. I had failed. Again. My son was in the NICU, struggling for every breath even with the help of blow-by oxygen. Then an oxygen hood. Then he was intubated, and still having to fight so hard. I couldn't look at him because it hurt me to see my son in that state. Every time I saw my baby with a machine breathing for him, covered in wires and tubes, I lost it - full out ugly crying. And I hated it. I hated that my son had to be there like that. I hated that I still didn't know if he was going to be okay. I hated that I couldn't hold him, that I couldn't keep him safe just a little bit longer to avoid all of that. I hated that anyone besides my husband had seen my tears, the cracks in my wall.

I managed to maintain my facade pretty convincingly to the outside world, but I came off as cold. This was mainly because I knew that if I tried to talk, I would crack. So I shut down. I didn't talk to anyone. I didn't look at anyone. I just existed. I focused on breathing - breathe in, breathe out. I was afraid I would stop if I didn't remind myself to.

My world was crashing down around me. I was hurt. Angry. Scared. Devastated. I wanted to cry and kick and scream and curse. And I refused to let anyone see my pain. I wouldn't wish it on anyone. I gave birth and had to leave the hospital without my son. It was an hour's drive one-way to see him. I couldn't effectively parent both of my kids. Eliana needed attention and while some friends made a ton of effort and helped greatly by being waiting room sitters, I still couldn't spend the time with Will or Ellie that I wanted to. Sleep became an elusive goal. The little I managed to get was plagued with nightmares of losing someone: Brett, Ellie, Will. I'm grateful to have friends (one in particular) who saw through my facade and was just there for me. I couldn't have navigated that point in my life without her.

A few months have passed and now I have a clearer head. My son is home. He's healthy. He doesn't seem to have any lasting effects from his prematurity. My hormones have stabilized. My household is a peaceful place. But the familial drama continues. I posted the birth story here while Will was still hospitalized. Reading it after things settled down, I realized that some things that I said came off way harsher than I intended, I took it down, because no offense was meant. I have made huge efforts to patch things up because I know I wasn't easy to be around when Will was in NICU. And yet I'm treated as if my goal in life is to hurt others. It's not and never has been. My only focus was keeping my son alive at whatever cost. I didn't have the time or energy to focus on anything else. No one seems to appreciate that. The thing that hurts the most is that some would rather trash talk me behind my back than think that I might be hurting. Or you know, say something to me. I don't like it, but that's the way it is. I've tried to change it, to no avail. I'm done. Blog is dead.