My Very Own Type of Torture 

I know I’ve said this before and I will probably say it again, I’m terrified of writing, opening up and embracing my emotions to me seems like my very own type of torture. On one hand writing about everything that is going on within my life was the norm, it was always ‘something just happened, take my phone out or grab the nearest object to write on and bobs your uncle, however just the thought of allowing all the emotions that I’ve built up over the last 2 years pour out, breaks me. 

For example, there is a poet I follow and he is amazing, so open and raw, a true natural talent. He is organising a poetry/spoken word get together and I’ve always loved going to events like that. 

I thought to myself Joyce why don’t you try performing, why don’t you let your voice be heard, I was getting all excited thinking ohh maybe, I’m far from talented but expressing myself through poems or spoken word pieces has always been a passion of mine, and while all these thoughts were going through my mind I’m piecing together sentences and being flooded with emotions. Suddenly I stopped, I mentally forced my brain to shut down, I was being drowned in emotions I’m still not ready to go through.

And so for the foreseeable future, I will be stuck in a bittersweet limbo between my passions and my fears. 

This is my very own type of torture 

Letter to Joyce

I’ve been watching you, observing the way you go about your day, smiling without a care in the world while your around people, and forcing yourself not to feel when your alone. 

This road your on, it’s dangerous. 

I watch you eat away your sadness, countless TV shows blurred throughout the nights, involved in everything around you, as if I am not here. 

I am sadness, I am pain, I am grief.

I am the heartache you have been putting off. Struggling with the small portions of me that are able to seep through the cracks in the walls that will forever break, until you deal with me. 

Until you let yourself feel, until you stop the pretences, only then can you start to truly heal. 

This road your on, it’s dangerous.

Letter to Him

For a while after we last spoke I wanted to see your face again. I found myself looking for you as I travelled the streets of London, scanning every face that had even the slightest resemblance, not quite understanding why I wanted to see you, but needing to nonetheless. It helped me cope with the loss of my dearest friend.

Countless times I have wondered what my reaction would be like if I ever saw you again, too afraid to look at you but even more terrified to look away.  At the beginning I wanted you to see me broken, see me torn apart but as times moved past I have toughen my skin, rebuilt my walls, not allowing myself to stoop any lower when it came to you, I then couldn’t stomach the thought of you seeing me vulnerable, seeing how much loss I’ve had to endure. It wasn’t until then I decided I couldn’t let you affect me anymore, you had to be removed from my mind and my heart. 

 

That was all until I saw you today, lost in my own mind, amidst the blending faces, I saw you. 

And my heart broke again.

 

Thoughts 2

 

People ask me all the time how am I coping, how am I dealing with everything going on, and I never really answer, I just swerve past the question or put on the best smile I can and say outright ‘ I don’t know’, and that is the truth, I have no idea how I am dealing with this all, actually food is the biggest help, but all jokes aside all I know is that with the mercy of God I wake up every morning, knowing that I have this sadness in my heart, knowing that I am a woman full to the brim with love and affection and sadly I have no one to share it with, I wake up knowing that today is another day and I have to smile and get on with it, so that’s what I do, get on with it.

It can be hard sometimes, that smile can be so fake I’m afraid my face will crack, when I see children on the road my heart squeezes with pain. But who hasn’t experienced pain or sadness, everyone goes through a traumatic experience at some point in their life and we all have to find our own way in dealing with it. 

The thing I wish for the most is a companion, I remember last year when my brother passed away within three months of his death my mother met someone, married him and he was living in her house, and at the time even though I knew she was in pain and she needed a companion I was angry because I have younger siblings and they to lost a brother and needed their mothers support and comforting and the only parent they had was looking for comfort in another mans arms, I was vex to say the least. However since losing my own son I can honestly say I can understand why she did that, I still don’t agree with it, but I understand that need, that craving for someone to be there for you, someone to call when your down, hold you when it’s all to much, to grow with them be each others rock in times of need.

The thing that gets to me the most is that I am so damn loving, I have all this positive energy to look after, care for someone, love then endlessly and i don’t have a physical person to do that for and it annoys me so much. It’s not just this sexual, carnal thing which is very much included, its just to have someone you know, love, care, kindness, affection, togetherness, exclusive, growing, building the list goes on.

I want to be a mother again but before I can be a mother I need to be a woman.

Six Months to Soon, Happy Birthday My Child.

Last week on the 28th July marked the 6 month interval since my baby took his last breath. Yesterday was his 3rd birthday. 

I had a major breakdown during the early hours of yesterday morning, reliving the day I gave birth, the 19 hour labour and the rush to get to theatre. Reliving the first time I heard him cry, the first time I saw his face, the first time I held him in my arms. 

Out of nowhere this all consuming wave of agony blew over me and the wails just kept rolling in, over and over. I woke up the whole house, but I couldn’t help it, everyone just had to wait until exhaustion overtook me and I passed out. I felt so bad for them when I woke up later that morning, they all stood around me, taking turns to cradle me, whisper it was going to be okay, but they all looked so helpless. I just wanted to hug them and tell them I was okay but every time I opened my mouth the only thing that would come out were cries, heart rendering cries. 

Later on that day I went to visit my boy at the graveyard. After fixing up his plot, I sat down at the head of his grave and spoke to him. I only ever tell him good things, even though he is not physically with me I can never let him know I’m hurting inside. So I joke, I chat a whole load of nonsense just so I have something to say. I know it may seems abit weird but when I’m sitting there it’s the only time I actually feel at peace. When I know I am close to him.
So much has happened in the last few weeks I’m surprised I haven’t been sent off to an asylum. I sometimes even have to wonder how I am even surviving let alone coping with everything that is going on, I think the only answer is living in the moment. I only think about what is ahead of me within the next 24 hour period, and that is how I survive. When I start thinking about the past or what is to come in the future, I just get so sick, all these health issues arise, so I just don’t think. I busy myself with shows and movies or pointless conversations until sleep overtakes me or I work long hours so that I am too tired to even think at all. It’s the only way I can ‘cope’.

With the inquest weeks away, it is harder to ‘cope’ when I am being reminded daily about what is to come. On top of that my son’s father has decided he does not want anything to do with our court case so it’s all on me. I have to defend my son on my own. It really hurts me to think my baby’s father did not help out much at all when he was alive, and he purposely chooses to not defend our son now that he’s dead. I cannot even explain the course of emotions I feel towards that man. But then again it may be a blessing in disguise, I won’t have to see his face again. 

I do apologise if this post does not make sense, I just needed to write what I was feeling at the time. I needed to let it all out, as jumbled up as it is.

Until next time.

Where Thou Calm Before The Storm

Again I apologise if there are mistakes on this post or it does not make any sense, I feeling like ramblings and how can you ramble and correct mistakes?

I’ve been meaning to blog for a couple day now, and I have been trying to put it off because I now know that people who actually know me in real life read this, and its so embarrassing, having people who I choose to have a brave face in front of, seeing how broken and messed up I am. I feel to bury myself far into the depths of the earth and never come out.

My anonymous space to be true to myself is now a known blog of a mad woman.

Last week I had a meeting with the panel members who all had a hand in writing the serious incident investigation report I received some weeks ago. I was so scared going into the meeting, my heart was beating ten times faster than normal, I felt sick and faint, overall totally unpleasant. The impersonal response I got in the report was so overwhelming I couldn’t even read it all, it was so cold, so detached. Going in I couldn’t bear the thought of being face to face with the exact people that could turn my tragedy into an emotionless stack of paper. However 10 minutes into the meeting it was the first time since my sons passing I felt anger, real pure anger towards the ‘professionals’ that I went to countlessly with my sick child however it was in their ‘professional opinion’ that he wasn’t sick enough to warrant a stay in hospital for further tests or a simple blood test. While these ‘professionals’ were blabbing on trying to cover the mistakes made by others, all I could see was red, I just wanted them to shut their mouths, for the first time since I’ve been having these meetings I actually spoke up for myself, tears streaming down my face because the anger was just consuming me, shouting at these people that are trying to take me as a mug. If I wasn’t in the amount of internal pain I was feeling in that moment I could say shouting at them was so liberating. I’d finally given everyone a glimpse as to how I was feeling inside. And to be frank, I think they were scared, scared not because they were afraid I would do something to them, but because they could see that even if it took every ounce of strength, skin, blood and bones on my body, I will go through with this case as far as it will take me.

Nearly two hours later, my tear ducts dried out, the anger slowly draining out of my pores, the meeting had finished. To me it was pointless, all these things they are going to change within the hospital when it comes to the care of children etc, it doesn’t mean anything to me, I haven’t got another child, having another child seems so alien to me, changing the rules now, now that because of their stupid rules and procedures my son is dead, now you want to change them. It doesn’t mean a thing to me.

After coming out of the meeting, we sat in the waiting area, my family talking with my lawyer, me sitting there too drained to even swallow my spit, a child about the same age my son was came into the waiting room with his dad and sat behind me. That child then starting singing nursery rhymes as they do at that age, oblivious to the horrors of this world.

I went limp.

I was like every bone in my body turned to mush and my insides were trying to come out. Then came the wails of a childless mother.

My family had to carry me to the car and for the rest of the week I stayed in bed, in and out of reality.

Just as I start to think I’ve started the healing phase of my grief, starting to accept that fact that I’m a mother without a child. I’m pushed five feet back from where I started. When I really think about it this is literally just the beginning. The actual inquest is months away, and after that, taking it to civil court, that whole process could take from months to years depending on whatever they throw at us.

When exactly am I suppose to heal?

Or better yet, how?

When can I get my calm before the storm?

 

 

 

Laugh to Keep The Tears Away

I can only laugh, because if I don’t I’ll be forever crying, and I’ve got no more tears to shed.

Thursday was one of the hardest days of my life, and it wasn’t even the inquest. I’m not sure what I was expecting the pre-inquest meeting to be like, I think I thought it was just a small meeting with my lawyer and barrister and a few other professionals to discuss the agenda for the actual inquest.
I was so wrong.
I met with my solicitor and barrister for the first time, and went through what I feared the most, combing through every detail of the last few days my son was alive, repeating myself over and over so that they can have an hour to hour record of my baby’s last days. In between the wails of a childless mother and the frustration if reliving the darkest days I’ve ever experienced I had to find some inner strength somehow to keep going. After what felt like hours under friendly fire, I went to the bathroom, sat down on the floor and cried my eyes out. As I sat there sinking into the floor I took my phone and did what I always do when I’m feeling lowest of the low. I called Bumface, I know he’s blocked me, and I know I’ll just hear the ever continuous engaged tone, however it’s an action I cannot give up, my love for him covered with the illusion of hatred and the blank response I’ve received over these last few months help harden my heart to any sort of emotion. With the death of my boy and Bumface’s ‘letter of resignation’ to our friendship, I am just numb.
So I came out of the bathroom, the engaged tone still lingering in my ear, numb.

This pre-inquest meeting took place in an actual court, like real court, the kind of court you see in movies or TV shows. I felt so small sitting in the oversize chair next to an over-sized table with my lawyer and barrister directly across from the coroner.

I don’t think I really realized how big this case is going to be until I sat there listening to what my lawyers, the opposing lawyers and the coroner was saying, although it was all mostly lawyer jargon. It was all ‘witness lists’ and ‘statement’ and ‘my client this, my client that’, this is all real, this is going to be the biggest fight of my life.

After sitting in court, twiddling my fingers and biting the inside of my cheeks, the meeting was finished, and as soon as I got down the stairs I broke down, not because of what was said or people opinions expressed during the meeting, I cried because even though this is going to take all of me to deal with, I am still a mother without a son.

I Can Only Come Back From So Much

Later on today starts the long soul draining process of the inquest into my son’s death. This is something that I have both longed for and dreaded in equal measures. I want to get justice for the appalling treatment I received leading up to his death, however reliving those last few days over and over again is chipping away at what little I have left, repeatedly describing every tiny detail of his last days bring back the feeling of losing him all over again. The walls inside my head cannot take it, I am now forever filling in the cracks before any sort of grief starts flooding in.

I cannot handle it, I cannot do this.

I spent my birthday in bed all day shifting between sadness and anger, between tears and rage. I am 21 years old, I should not be going through this kind of pain and suffering. I’ve come back from learning my father wasn’t in actual fact my biological father, I’ve come back from being raped, I’ve come back from growing my siblings while my littlest brother was sick, I’ve come back from divorce, I’ve even started to come back from my brothers death and I’m pushing though the pain of not having my Bumface around anymore. But my baby, he was all I had, he was my light, I needed him more than I needed anything else, and I know that is bad, but he gave me the strength to fight, to make a better life for us both.

And now it’s just me, alone, and in pain and I cannot accept that. That fact cannot get registered in my brain.

Tomorrow I’ve got to go and listen to x amount of people tell me that the choices I made in my son’s life lead up to his death, and I’ve got to do that without anyone holding my hand except my own.

Asha, Good For Shxt.

I’m not sure how people do it, lose someone close to them, a family member, and still live. It baffles me. Every second it is a constant struggle to inhale and exhale, let alone live. It’s coming up to  two months since the passing of my son and only God knows how I’ve made it this far. I feel like nothing, empty and futile but at the same time I’m feeling every dark emotion under the sun all at the same time, times a million.

My son was my life. What is life without him?

I am nothing. I have no one. I don’t need to exist anymore. At nights I lay awake thinking about the numerous ways I can end my life, I have one foot in and one foot out, I dance for brief moments on one or the other, to live or not to live. I sit on my window ledge and debate whether or not to jump, when I take my sleeping tablets I’m second guessing if I should devour the whole pack or only take what was prescribed. I purposely cross the road without looking, half of me wishing I make it to the other side safely, but the other half not really giving a fuck. 

Everything has just gone to shit, I moved out of my flat, lost my job, had to move back in with my family, and I hate it, it’s making me feel even worse, if that is even possible. Everyone keeps telling me I’m strong, I’m coping really well, but what the fuck do they know? To be honest right now I do not want to see any Muslims. I just don’t want to see any practicing older aunties and uncles that are going to start reading off lines from a book because I don’t want to hear any of that, telling me its a test and that hes in a better place will not make me feel any better than I did five seconds ago; is that rude of me?

Religion? what is that in my eyes at the moment?

Underneath the loss and sadness I am seething with pure and utter rage, I’m so angry all the time, red hot pipping lava trampling through my veins every minute of every day, I’m scared of what I might do or say to someone if they cross me. I’m angry because I tried to make everything right after my colossal mistake but the ONE fucking thing I knew I was doing a fucking good job in was being a mum, making sure that beautiful angel of mine had everything he needed, made sure he was loved, and feed, and looked after and I never wanted him to see me sad, I made sure I was the best damn mum I could be, or so I thought. But  I guess I wasn’t enough.

i wasn’t a good enough mother, I wasn’t a good enough anything, wife, mother, friend, believer, nothing. 

Asha, good for shit.

Thoughts

I haven’t been sleeping nights, and it’s leaving me unbalanced and drained, so a friend suggested I get back to writing, so I thought I would try, and write, just write, no correcting no proof reading, just type what I felt while I’m writing, so that’s what I’m doing. Might not make sense, so I apologies beforehand.

A couple days ago I needed to go to the shop, so I went out got what I needed to get and walked out the shop, I was crossing the road not even concentrating on the road, next thing I know a car is literally touching the fabric of my dressing gown and someone was blaring the horn repeatedly to get my attention, and you know what, in that moment, my heart didn’t start beating faster, I was not scared or afraid, I simply didn’t feel anything in that moment expect for annoyance, this stranger making so much noise, and I just carried on walking to my flat, as if nothing had happened. My doctor has asked me a couple times if I was feeling suicidal, if I needed any drugs to help me sleep or get through the day, and to be honest, I can’t give her a straight answer. I think about it about really, taking my own life, wondering what I’m meant to do in this world if I can’t be the person I use to be, a mother to the most beautiful child. My existence is insignificant in my eyes, I am nothing. I guess the only thread that’s holding me back is a small ounce of faith, faith that if I am a good person in this world, in the next I will be reunited with my baby, however at different times I think, what if, what if I’m not good enough, do as many good things as I can in a short space of time and then end it, that’s not right is it? That’s not the way it’s meant to be. Nothing is the way it’s meant to be. 

Everyone is always saying to be oh your so lucky you have such a supportive family, and I thank God for them, but they are not my family, my intimate family, a man, a woman, children, close friends. That’s their family, I feel like an outsider. Barren. Being stripped of literally everyone I was closest too. And it hurt me but I didn’t mind, I had my baby, I had my boy, and now I don’t. And this burning pain in my body just feels as if it’s crushing all my insides repeatedly, day in day out. 

Sometimes it feels like I’ve been feeling this pain for years upon years, this anguish feels so familiar, a lasting ache from the tips of my hairs to the nerves in my bones, but then again at the same time it feels so fresh, as if it’s the first time I heard the doctor call time of death, all over again. 

Everyone is always asking how I’m doing, how I’m feeling and I say I’m fine or I’m okay alhamdulillah (praise be to God), but I’m not I haven’t slept during the night since it happened, I physically have to force food down my throat so that I don’t pass out, most of the time I just want to go outside in front of the fastest moving car or swallow a bunch of sleeping pills and be done with it all. 

My child was literally my everything, he was everything to me. My world revolved around him, I fixed myself up so I can be the best mother for him. I loved him more than life itself, what I wouldn’t do to have him in my arms again. I’d give anything, to have his smell or his touch or for him to call me Mummy one more time