#the other night I had one of those one-sided imaginary discussions about why I couldn't let him back into my life or be friends with him

[lord-radish]

I just reblogged a post about PTSD, and it gave a lot of examples of PTSD criteria that are often overlooked that really resonated with me.

I'm gonna go over the former best friend stuff. Right away I'm gonna say I'm pretty sure things are gonna go back way before any of that other stuff happened, but the former best friend stuff is the most recent and the most raw.

---

The criteria I'm using are on an Australian governmental website called Healthline. I'll be posting the criteria and discussing its applicability to the situation. I'm also going to read a webpage for an Australian mental health organisation called Beyond Blue.

Symptoms of PTSD, according to Healthline:

re-experiencing the trauma

I don't think about the actual event all that much, where I realised my friend had gotten with a girl I had been hung up on for about a year. It was less "why doesn't she love me", because she had let me down easy and was seeing other people and I was moving on, and more "how could my friend have done this to me", because I had confided in him about the crush for the entire time I had it and I was already having inadequacy issues with him and severe self-confidence issues.

The initial trauma, where I realised what was going on and blew up at my friend, is embarrassing but not something I revisit very often. What gets me is the thought that he's going to try and come back into my life, or I'm going to be trapped in a room or a conversation with him, or people are going to expect me to be around him and like pressure me to forgive him. It's the thought of going back, or being forced into a stressful situation, that gets me.

repetitive memories (or flashbacks) that are hard to control and intrude into everyday life

The recurring memories that get me are related to the moment where I realised I wouldn't be trying to go back to the friend group any more. It's the entire chain of reasoning that led to me leaving for good.

It's a laundry list of things he did that I didn't like and actively made me uncomfortable or upset, but which he did anyway because he thought it was funny. The first day we hung out outside of school, we went to the pool with another friend. They both got out, and when I went to get out, they started tredding on my hands and arms so I couldn't. I swam to the other side, but they'd beat me over there and keep stepping on me.

What struck me about remembering that in the wake of the girl thing is that it formed the foundation of our friendship, and going forward he would do things just like that - things that he would do to me that I didn't like, but which he did anyway because he thought it was funny. That was the foundation our entire friendship was built on. It was there from the start.

nightmares

Nightmares have always been few and far between for me, thank god. I don't have nightmares.

extreme distress caused by reminders of the trauma

At one point, I would start hyperventilating and crying whenever something happened that would reopen the wound. There have been times since I started working that this has almost happened at work. I'm always in flight mode when I'm in public, especially when I'm around where he works, and even more so when it's the time of the day I've seen him around and run into him after work. I'll have one of those one-sided mental conversations when I'm in bed or at work, and I'll need to let it play out and go over my rebuttals because otherwise it's just the thought of someone trying to force their way back into my life.

memories or disturbing thoughts that can be prompted by smells, sounds, words or other triggers

I have a hard time whenever I see his name, or the name of his girlfriend. I need to rush past it and forget I ever saw it. Both names are fairly common too.

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The next set of criteria deal with avoidance.

staying away from places, people or objects that may trigger memories of the traumatic event

My former best friend used to work at a shop on the main street of my town. My main street is made up of three blocks, with his place of work being down the end of town we both live close to.

For the first year after the falling out, I wouldn't walk on that block of the main street. There's a second road that goes the same way, but it isn't as paved or well maintained as the main street. Whenever I was walking down the street, I would take that less well-maintained road to avoid potentially running into him. I did that for over a year, and I only stopped because I found out - tangentially, from seeing his new uniform after running into him - that he doesn't work there any more.

I did a similar thing with his home, talking a less convenient path to stay as far away from where he lived as possible. He lives *behind my mum* now, so I'm trying to stop washing my clothes at her house despite not having a washing machine in my flat because I can hear them across the fence.

I also left all of our mutual friends to get away from him. All of them. They're all his. I also close my eyes whenever I'm travelling by the place where the initial fallout happened so I don't have to look at it.

changing a normal routine to avoid triggering memories

Just discussed that in the previous entry. This one very much applies.

not wanting to talk about or think about the event

Outside of the councillor I've had since 2021, a friend I made and my mum, I haven't told anyone about what happened and why there was a fallout between me and my former best friend. A big reason why is because this isn't a "good guy vs bad guy" thing, and while I'm clearly very hurt and fucked up about it, I don't want to color people's perception of him.

If they like him and want to be his friend, they should be able to like him and be his friend. It's not like I'm The Good Guy and he's The Bad Guy, it was an ugly set of circumstances that I reacted very poorly to that forced a personal schism between us. I would talk about it with someone close enough to me because it's cathartic, but I have valid reasons to keep it to myself. All people need to know is that I can't be around him.

Now, thinking about the event - that's something I don't want to do. If I'm talking about it, I'm breaking it down and thinking about the mechanics of it and rationalising it. It's a process I can work through. Thinking about it, on its own, just hurts to do.

I think that's why I have those mental conversations, because I need to always be working through it and breaking it down. That's a fresh hell in itself, because I've been repeating the same points to myself for almost two years. I think of it, I have the mental conversation, however long it takes is a write-off. That's one reason I don't want to think of it.

feeling numb

I've felt numb about a lot of things for years before this was an issue, because I was severely bullied all through school. This event caused some numbness, but most of it is from that prior bullying.

---

These criteria regard negative thoughts and mood.

feeling a sense of hopelessness about the future

Not specific to the best friend stuff. This one stems from over twelve years of bullying, and is aggravating by living in a stressful home environment for most of my life and having such a strained relationship with my friends post-school. The best friend thing is whatever - the end of that friendship isn't going to kill me. The potential to find better friends is endless.

But I struggle to believe I'm ever going to fit in with a crowd that I jive with and which wants me, which has been a persistent feeling ever since primary (elementary) school. I felt that way before I met my former best friend, and I feel it now.

negative beliefs about yourself or the world

Again, moreso due to the bullying that occured before/during the time I made friends in high school. There is something wrong with me compared to other people, and there always has been - there's a tangible difference that puts me at a disadvantage. I have a very negative opinion on anti-bullying tactics and legislature like zero-tolerance policies, because it could be weaponised by bullies in ways that got their victims in trouble. On a good day I'm an optimistic atheist, on a bad day I'm a pessimistic agnostic.

blaming yourself or others unreasonably

I treat the former best friend stuff as a "both sides" issue. I feel bad because I was very emotionally ugly, and this led to me lashing out and being a very angry and spiteful person towards him. In the long run, this was to protect my own feelings and be able to live with myself in the long run, and I have to live with that.

And while I'm indescribably angry at him to this day, the actual decision between him and his girlfriend is both a positive development for both of them and a perfectly reasonable decision between two consenting adults. So like I said, both sides have a point.

I hold a lot of animosity towards my former best friend, and I will never let him get close to me again. I'm also angry at myself for my role in it all. I can recognise the good in it all, but it doesn't make the anger and hate any more palatable.

intense worry, depression, anger or guilt

I've covered anger and guilt in previous entries. Adding onto that: when this was still fresh, my emotional state was changing every day. I felt the full gamut of human emotion in the span of a week. A few months in, I had my first and only anxiety attack because I felt like I was running out of time to mend the bridges I thought I needed to mend.

I was immensely depressed - I didn't know what to do. I lost all my friends for the duration I was gone, and when I left for good, I lost all those friends forever. I felt guilty for the effect my acrimonious exit must have had on people in that group. Even today, it makes me feel angry and guilty, and I worry about the possibility of people trying to force their way into my life. Worry, depression, anger and guilt is most of my life.

not being able to remember the traumatic event

I can remember the traumatic event just fine. I remember the moment I put it all together, I remember lashing out at my friend. I remember the spiral I went into after I stormed out, and I remember the Saturday where I saw him for the first time since and he told me what had been going on.

What I don't remember is most of our friendship before that point.

I remember some good parts, and I remember a lot of the bad. I've blocked everything else out of my memory.

no longer enjoying favourite activities

This is another all-encompassing one with roots in being bullied. I find it hard to play online co-op games with other people, though I play a lot of games we used to play by myself. I've avoided a lot of movies, TV and music due to general shittiness stemming from being bullied, I have to find something that really engages me before I commit to any media.

becoming emotionally detached from others

This is the big one - again, not exclusive to the friend stuff.

I've never been good at making friends, and I stopped actively trying back in primary school. I made friends at the end of high school because I made an effort to befriend people I wanted to be around, but that's how I ended up with my former best friend.

I've never been good at talking to people unless they're more of a conversation starter. Nowadays, I don't even try. Partially because I feel poorly about myself, but thanks to the former best friend stuff, I'm also afraid of being hurt and getting excluded from places when things go poorly.

not being able to experience positive emotions

Again, not exclusive to the former best friend stuff. It's hard to find joy in anything, because I learned to feel judged and criticized at an early age. I stopped getting my hopes up that things would get better. After the friend group fallout, there were weeks where I felt like I would never be happy again unless I found a way to go back to that friend group, and things were endlessly bleak.

Even now, with the job I have, I've resigned myself to a long, arduous existence of working with outdated machinery instead of holding out hope for better equipment coming down the line. It's better to expect the bare minimum and - more often than not - getting it, than to wish for the moon and getting nothing in return.

---

These criteria regard increased arousal.

constant, excessive alertness

I mentioned this before - I'm always on the lookout for a flash of green or a person who looks like my former best friend so I can go the other way and avoid it. I'm always "on". I'm always thinking about places to hide or how to escape.

scanning the environment for signs of danger

See previous entry. Short answer, yes.

being easily startled

More of a general symptom. I've always been easily startled. My former best friend would startle me and play on my insecurities and fears to get a reaction out of me, because he thought it was funny.

irritable or aggressive behaviour

When I was bullied, I came out the other side trying to be as polite and inoffensive to the senses as I could be. I had intense anger and sadness for a long time, and I did lash out for a brief period in early high school, but I grew into a more kind, measured person.

When the former best friend stuff happened, the way I would phrase it is that I "became a person I didn't want to be". I'm outwardly angry now. I'm always ready to be rude and shout at my former best friend if it comes to that, and I will do so with impunity if I'm ever cornered. I still try to be measured and calm, but I stew and mutter and have a hard time regulating my emotions now.

difficulty sleeping

poor concentration

Both of these are moreso bullying-related issues that have stayed with me for most of my life than anything to do with my former best friend.

[skynapple]

Budding Romance | Ch. 20

Love and Deepspace | Jeremiah x MC / slow-burn / friends-to-lovers | Themes: angst, guilt, fluff

warnings: none

Multi-chapter | A03 link

Beginning | <- Prev | Next ->

"Friendship." A familiar conversation with Xavier.

It was Monday. The store was always closed on Monday. It was a rare day he wished it was open to distract him. Lingering at the back of his mind like the a fly buzzing and darting around the room were thoughts of her. 

Just a few nights after seeing her, he had a dream he could only describe as a soft nightmare. It had been an intimate moment with her, too intimate. It startled him awake, chest heaving where he could still feel the dream-state of her fingers on his bare chest and the imaginary sensation of the way she said his name against his ear. 

What the hell was that…

Slinking himself out of bed, he grabbed his gym bag. It was the one place he felt his head could be clear. The smell of the rubber mats, the feel of the cool metal bars against his skin, the way his body could once again in a small way feel the weight of what his sword used to be in his hand. He incorporated a few old techniques he'd used to maintain his knightly duties and physique. His body wasn't quite in the top condition it once had been, but he liked to try to maintain a certain level of strength, just in case anything happened. And the way things had been going, it was all the more reason to do so.

He focused on the movements, the rhythm. Count the reps. Breathe. Rest. Switch sides. Repeat.

By the time he got to the backtrackers' local secret facility that day, it was late morning. There was a briefing, and a few rounds of status reports. 

Xavier was a brilliant leader, sharp, and assertive. Anyone of his upbringing was taught a great deal of strategy, negotiation, and war tactics. How he applied those skills to the missions and leading their group was no different. But he wasn't perfect, and lately the group tensions were high. Jeremiah assisted wherever and however he could. For as long as he could remember, that's how it had been. For everything. 

The kinds of power, positions, and pressures that Xavier held had never been desirable. There was never due cause to envy him. Jeremiah, being  confident in all that he was, had always garnered enough likability to never feel the need to strive after it. Even back in school, his position as a vice captain had even garnered enough attention to have him surrounded by girls at lunch hour, eager to hear his stories. The little bit of popularity, leadership, and respect of peers had been enough. Xavier, for all the power he carried, he noticed was often alone, and often purposefully so. Either because of his title, his protectors, or personal desire to keep people at bay.

That had changed a little when he'd met her. She had a way of always being in his business. He had a way of letting her in. Jeremiah knew immediately that they were each others' weakness. For a time, it was a fun thing to explore and exploit, on both sides. He never once thought to be jealous of it.

He'd never once felt he could be jealous.

So he couldn't explain the way he felt now after the meeting, standing on a balcony of a cafe with Xavier, the bite of ice in his veins when glancing over at Xavier's phone he saw several notifications from her.

Jeremiah swallowed hard.

"You know Xav, a new barbecue place opened up. You should take her sometime.”

"I'll suggest that. But why are you bringing that up to me now?"

"We discussed this. You could... you know." He wasn't sure why he hesitated. "Start letting her in to your life again. She's different here but it's good, she's amazing and-"

"Do I spy a plant that needs pruning?"

"Nope! Nope." He lifted his hands defensively. "I'm just saying. You know you need each other."

"You know about the non-interve-"

"Screw that! You obviously don’t care. Think about it." He spat in irritation. "You're not the only man in her life."

Xavier's eyes darkened. "What exactly do you mean by that?"

Jeremiah looked away at the crowds over where they stood on a balcony, suddenly feeling panicked. "I mean- she hangs out with other guys. Often! First of all that weird painter she bodyguards for on occasion. Slippery, that one. We’re keeping an eye on him. She also goes out from time to time with, uh, some guy? I’m not too sure. George it was her doctor but I find that hard to believe. I'm just saying, Xavier..."

His friend's lack of reaction paired with the steely blue eyes that seemed to be scrutinizing him made him shake his head, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Never mind. I just don't want to see her get hurt because you decide to play too carefully."

"Lauren was good for you, you know." Xavier nodded with a sad smile, the sudden shift in topic almost startling to Jeremiah.

“What?” Jeremiah felt his arms cross a little tighter, unable to help his thoughts from going to the few days prior at the Linkon memorial. “That was a long time ago, Xav."

Seeming to ignore him, Xavier looked out at the sky. "I told you before. None of us could have known." The breeze rustled the blondes hair. "I want you to find your happiness again. I don't like seeing you like this. I didn't like carrying you out of the shop that day."

A pang of guilt hit his chest at the memory of pacing all night. Of feeling sick to his stomach and how weakly he’d called his friend that morning. “Yeah? Well. You didn’t have to come.” 

“But you asked me to.”

Jeremiah found his shoes very interesting in that moment, using the edge of his heel to smooth out dirt smudged there. “Thanks.”

A few unspoken words burned in his mind.

I just wanted what you had; I wanted someone to look at me like that –like I was worth existing for. 

The fear of it was something he’d been pondering over the years. Would things have worked out? Did he rush in because he loved her, or because he wanted a love like someone who was so endlessly devoted to wait for centuries. 

It wasn't until she appeared again that he began to feel that dull ache of desire again, as if the wound had been re-opened, the desire to be wanted, or at least less lonely. It was like a spreading disease. The more time he spent around her, the more the ache grew.

He had considered a dating app, entertaining the idea of making himself more available, even just around the few places he frequented, considering possibilities. And for what? The looming prospect of his future here haunted him as much as it did back then. Xavier was right. Human lives were futile. To outlive them was worse.

As he brooded, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Xavier had a terrible memory, but when it counted, he remembered, and he could be surprisingly thoughtful. 

A familiar bartender walked over and gave him a nod. "You two want some of the real stuff?"

Jeremiah laughed, nodding at the fellow Philosian. "I didn't think you had any left."

"I keep some around."

In response, the brunette grinned, shrugging a shoulder up at his friend. “What say you, Highness. Should we splurge?”

Xavier made a face at the mocking tone, but there was warmth there. “Why do I have a feeling this tab is on me?”

A few minutes later, the men had followed the bartender down the descending steps into the familiar speak-easy area. They seated themselves at the bar stools, and the bartender reemerged holding two small shot glasses with a flask of shimmering golden liquid.

"Bottoms up.”

Both men took it, clinking glasses together, tapped their glasses on the counter, and knocked it back. The liquid consisted of Philosian flowers fermented into a sweet liquid, glittering in a way that earth liquids could not. It felt like home. Already he could feel the warmth of the liquid in his chest, and the tingling in his head. Nothing like the gross, weak earth stuff that he’d sworn off. 

"Hey," Xavier mused, a question in his tone, after the bartender had left to tend to others approaching the bar.

Jeremiah gave a nod. “What’s up?”

“How often do you see her?”

“See who?”

“You know who.”

“Oh.” Jeremiah swirled the empty glass, trying to look like he was ruminating. “Not often. She’s a busy huntress you know.” It wasn’t a lie. It just happened to be that he had seen her recently, so it almost felt like one. “Why?”

“Just curious. She asked about you the other day, that’s all.”

Jeremiah wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the topic but his heart was beating. “Weird.”

Xavier ordered another round, ending the tab there. “I thought so too."

He took the second glass and knocked it back, then stood. “I should get going. I think I’ll take her to that barbecue place you mentioned.”

Jeremiah nodded. “Thanks for today. Good luck.”

A sick feeling returned to his stomach. The dream from that morning returned to his mind and he tried to wash it down. It wasn’t like him to feel jealous. It wasn’t like him to have dreams like that. So why now?

And why not? She’s not with him. No. Stop this. Don’t think like that. 

A photo came hours later. The two at the restaurant, and Jeremiah felt his stomach twist. She looked happy. He looked happy.

So Jeremiah shut his phone off and went to sleep, hoping for dreams that wouldn’t make him wonder in the morning about how things would be different if he wasn’t such a devoted friend.

[scuttle-buttle]

Chapter 11

WC: 2077

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: full on angst, discussions of emotional trauma, mild depictions of blood/gore, mentions of self h*rm & su*cide, mentions of child abuse, discussions of physical disabilities, institutionalization, some dialogue & plot canon to TV show, hurt/comfort

🧠

The rest of the conference went by much like the first day did. Both you and Laszlo bought a few books for your collections. An ease had settled over your conversations with the help of Sara and John's presence; you spoke more freely with each other. You tell yourself it is not because he's going soft on you or vice versa, but rather that you have found yourself in this imaginary bubble where you happen to get on well. It's inevitable that it will pop once you’re back at school and Laszlo will revert back to his usual callous state.

Laszlo. It still felt odd to think of him like that, rather than by his title. You couldn't lie, it gave you a sort of thrill. Even in your dreams you had only called him by his honorific. Thankfully you didn't have another dream after Friday. You couldn't escape the feeling that you'd said something incriminating in front of the man in question. So you chose to pretend it didn't happen.

Monday morning came and you headed to the train station. Once again he had secured a private cabin for the journey. This time you came prepared with a book since you had yet to replace your broken phone.

"Thank you again for inviting me to this, I really enjoyed myself. It was really nice of the department to foot my travel expenses, the hotel was really fancy. I may have helped myself to a mini-bottle or two," you joked.

"There is no need to worry about the department's finances; they were not involved."

You pause. He paid for you? Laszlo did say he would take care of the arrangements; but the four-star hotel, the private compartment train tickets, the admission to the conference, and every meal? Shit, that must have been a fortune, hundreds of dollars at least.

You don't know what to say, so you settle for an awkward "oh." A moment passes before you add "I appreciate that, um, I can pay you back. Might take some time but I can."

The professor is flippant in his reply. "There is no need, it was well spent for the research and knowledge acquired." He opens his book signaling the conversation is over.

You lick your lips. Fine then, I'll just consider it payment for emotional suffering and damages of the last eight weeks.

The first few hours of the journey were spent reading one of the new books you picked up at the convention. Occasionally you would peek over the pages at the professor. He was engrossed in his own selection; sometimes he would pause to write down a thought.

Around the seventh hour of your journey you had given up on reading anymore in favor of looking at the fields outside. The silence was comforting.

Laszlo had trouble concentrating on the book in his hand. He saw you as a conundrum. One minute you could be sociable and teasing with your comments, then next you were biting at his throat with your quick wit and fierce ideals. He decides that he wants to know what made you into who you are today. Now is as good a time as any.

His eyes on you cause a tingle up your spine but you ignore it. Laszlo breaks the silence; "may I ask a personal question?"

"You just did," you answer, still peering out of the large window. He huffed once, amused. At his following silence you face him. You raise your eyebrows to signal him to go on with his question. Curiosity grows at the thought of what he intends to ask.

"Twice now you have made implications of a traumatic past," he begins.

Bubble popped.

Interrupting, you snark "is this the part where you psychoanalyze me, doc? Because trust me, I've been through enough of that." You pick at the lint on your jeans.

Laszlo tries to choose his words more carefully the next time he speaks. "What I mean to say is, the first afternoon in the classroom where you defended that student you implied you had been witness to a trauma. You then displayed signs of anger and embarrassment before leaving prematurely. Yesterday you mentioned having entered a psychiatric facility. As an alienist I can't help but find myself curious about your experiences."

You slide your eyes to meet his from across the cabin. Your face is devoid of any emotion. "We all have our demons. Even you can't argue with that."

Your jaw clenches. Everyone had warned you. They all said he would try to worm his way into your head to figure you out. All the reviews, the gossip, everything. It was a big fat 'I told you so'. You give a pitiful laugh at the situation. "You know, everyone told me that you would pull this stunt."

He seems confused by your statement. "And what is that?"

"That you'd get inside my head and try to figure me all out or whatever. You already know I googled you beforehand, what everyone says about your methods. By now I assume you've done a little research yourself. I promise you there is nothing exciting here," you scoff and point to yourself.

"You would be correct in your assumption." You chew at your cheek as he starts. "I do know some of what happened in your past. Yet I also know that society likes to dilute the truth into something either more palatable, more entertaining, for people to consume greedily. What I want to know is what you have faced. How you have not allowed the experience to overcome you so much so that your humanity is erased like the characters I lecture on."

Eyes closing of their own volition you are thrown back in time to that night so many years ago. You didn't talk about it anymore. Bitsy knew of course, but that was the extent.

Laszlo waits. He knows this is likely to push you over the edge if your history with him means anything. Quite frankly, anyone would be tossed to their limit at his interrogation had they gone through what you had. John always told him that he needed to work on his bedside manner; that he had a habit of coming on too strong in his pursuit of learning the intricacies of the human mind. But your earlier comment about being sent to a so-called 'nuthouse' rubbed him the wrong way. It left a bad taste in his mouth. He needed to know. He needed to understand.

Laszlo can imagine the reprimand that he would receive from John and Sara for this. Just as he considers apologizing for his intrusion you open your eyes.

"She was fine. None of us suspected anything was wrong. I came home from having dinner with some… boy, and she had locked herself in the bathroom. She- she must have started over the sink and moved to sit on the side of the tub. She was hunched inside it when I got the door open. I pulled her out. Blood was… everywhere." Your voice is clinical as you explain.

"After, I shut down. So I checked myself into a psych ward a few days later when I couldn't get the feel of her blood off my hands. It's slippery, you know. And it smells. You wouldn't think so but it does." You clear your throat. "I did the therapy, took the meds they prescribed, all the standard treatments. Later I started watching true crime documentaries. I'd heard about exposure therapy so I figured the more I saw the gore, the less the image of my dead roommate would bother me. And it did help. The nightmares stopped after a while, I came back to school. I was better, just not the same.” You had watched the passing landscape as you explained. Turning to face him you speak again. “That's why those pictures didn't bother me. They weren't anything I hadn't seen before."

He contemplates you. The discovery and subsequent loss of your friend in this manner would no doubt cause lingering effects to your psyche. A stain that would forever remind you. "I offer my sincerest condolences. I do not presume to know what that would be like to experience, but I am glad you sought help afterwards. To make the choice to alleviate yourself of your own suffering where possible.”

As he says this he realizes that your anger towards the idea of being enslaved to unconscious impulse makes perfect sense. It explains why you focused so much energy on defending your belief in free will. That you have the power to choose how you carry your joy, your anger, your healing. It reminds him of how he held onto his own guilt and hurt, ignoring how it festered within him for so long. He feels as though he needs to share a piece of himself with you.

“I played piano as a child, quite well too. My mother hoped I would someday make a career of it. I vividly remember playing Mozart’s Concerto for Piano No. 20 in D Minor at a holiday party when I was seven years old. It was my favorite to play.... It requires two hands." You finally look at him. "My father...” He pauses to gather himself.

Now it is the doctor that cannot meet your eyes. As you listen you feel your confusion grow. How could he have been a talented pianist if he only had full use of his left hand? Unless..., the realization dawns on you just as he continues, his words slow.

“My father had two sides. One loving and the other brutal, the two often coexisting. It was something as trivial as putting me to bed, I recall... A game of tug of war. We were laughing…” He inhales a sharp breath. Already you can feel the tears begin to blur your vision. “I don't remember if he was drunk or if I said something that offended him. He must have pulled my arm behind my back.” Laszlo exhales shakily. “In small children, fractures can often affect…” he trails off, unable to finish. You can hear how he barely holds himself together.

Your heart aches for the broken man that sits in front of you. He never let on how much his arm bothered him, at least not within your presence. Suddenly you don’t see him as this rude, insufferable, obsessive man, but instead as someone that spends his life trying to protect himself. He projects his own anger and hurt so that he may, just for a minute, forget about his own demons. He wants to help others even when he feels he cannot bear to help himself.

But unlike you, he has to live with the physical reminder of his past every day of his life.

You stand and move to sit on his right side. Before allowing yourself to think too much of your actions, you place your hand atop his own, curling your fingers around his palm and squeezing delicately. You don’t bother wiping away the tears on your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Laszlo;” the whisper is barely heard above the sound of the train. A second passes where you fear you have overstepped and offended him by touching the affected limb. When his thumb tightens against the backs of your fingers you know he is not. He holds you in place.

“You asked me how I kept my humanity. How does anyone really? We learn to take what we get and we carry it in a bag. Sometimes you have to drag the damn thing behind you. But eventually the weight gets less and less if you allow yourself to move forward, even if it’s still there with you all the time. I dealt with what happened years ago and it does still haunt me. It’s easier now than it was, but… I- I suppose I’ve learned from you too. Sitting in those lectures and hearing you talk. We can either let it haunt us for the rest of our lives… or we can accept it… and use the memory of our pain to help ourselves and others.”

“I’m not sure the choice is entirely in our hands.” His tone is mournful.

You turn to smile at him through your tears. His own eyes are bloodshot. “I disagree. If it weren’t, if we didn’t have the freedom to choose that, we’d all be murderers.”

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[mediamumma]

My sister asked me to post this for her on Baby Loss Awareness day. I think this is worth a read for everyone. ❤️

One of the problems with todays society is how judgemental people are, especially when they hide behind social media platforms. This adds to the difficulty some people feel when it comes to talking about baby loss.

When Chrissy Teigen recently shared the news of losing her baby along with photos, there were a number of unpleasant comments regarding the loss not being kept private. Instead of the news sparking conversations about how terrible baby loss is and how little is known about it, people instead focussed on discussing if the couple should have taken photos and then shared them. So many people will have seen the negative comments from others and will have felt that they would be wrong to share their stories too.

The news story inevitably led to my husband and I talking about our experience and how lucky we were to have our little miracle this year. We lost 4 babies prior to this and we both recalled a couple of the more painful memories. He vividly remembers us sitting in a car park after work as I broke the news to him that I was losing another pregnancy. On this occasion we agreed we would manage it at home, especially as it was a cold October night and we didn't fancy another journey to A&E. By the early hours of the morning we realised we needed to get to hospital quickly as I was losing a tremendous amount of blood and was passing out. The usual mixture of patients were in A&E and we were told to wait in the waiting room where I ended up passing out whilst waiting to be seen.

This miscarriage was our third, I had attempted to get help through our GP after the second but we were told we would have to wait until we had lost 3 babies in a row. We also tried to go private but we got the same response. Some people suggested we just say we had experienced 3 to get some help, but that just didn't sit right with us after what we knew it meant. Having to have 3 miscarriages before you can get help is madness when you take in to account the physical impact on women and the mental health impact on all involved.

Despite losing 2 pregnancies we really did believe the third was to be successful. After the 3rd miscarriage we did receive help from both the NHS and privately but advice was so varied with one doctor telling us I needed surgery and then another strongly contradicting it. We had to be relentless in our search for answers and were left doubting our decisions.

And then there's the information that no-one tells you. We never imagined we would lose a baby, let alpne 4. When I was discharged from hospital after the first miscarriage no-one told us that there would be a point where you literally pass the foetus/embryo. The result was a horrific experience at home coupled with fear as we didn't understand what was happening. It had a lasting impact on me.

We also found that every ward or ultrasound room was either next to a maternity ward or you had to go past one to get there. You could literally hear newborn babies crying as you were losing your own. This is so cruel.

We know we are extraordinarily lucky to have our little one. The pregnancy wasn't straight forward with us convinced we had lost him on the same day that our nephew was born, but this turned out to just be an isolated bleed. I clearly remember the A&E doctor holding my hand and telling me to not give up hope, shortly after that the bleeding stopped. We were fortunate enough to be able to pay for additional scans throughout the pregnancy as we were told we couldn't have any additional ones beyond 12 weeks on the NHS.

Our son was born at the peak of the coronavirus pandemic and despite being in hospital alone as I recovered from an emergency cesarean section, I was in this amazing little bubble. I had programmed myself to believe this would never happen, we hadn't put any scan photos up and had brought very little. I just stupidly thought anything like that would tempt fate.

I once saw some artwork that perfectly summed up the journey. There were three paintings of the same women, one showing her grieving, one showing her with empty arms cradling an imaginary baby and one showing her with a baby holding it ever so tight. I feel the absence of the children we have lost and I hold my son so closely. My heart goes out to all those who have had the added heartbreak of dealing with a loss during the pandemic restrictions and without even their partner by their side. How can we be living in a world where we are able to go to the pub but in some areas parents to be are prohibited from hearing the news that their baby has died?

I will finish with mentioning the work of Professors Arri Coomarasamy, Quenby and Brosens (amongst others) who work tirelessly to find the causes of miscarriage. Their work on progesterone in early pregnancy was published last year and it was this new advice that we followed and we believe helped us have our son. I'd strongly advise others after a loss, who feel ready, to research their work and ask your GP for a referral to a specialist. Unfortunately there are very few specialist miscarriage clinics which is why these awareness weeks are so important, particularly now when all the focus from media and politicians is regarding the pandemic. Issues like this need action to prevent unnecessary suffering. If this area of medicine received the attention it is due with interventions for women sooner many unborn childrens lives could be saved.

Charlotte Byrne