Well today my psychotherapist leaves for America for two weeks. I have just had my last session with her and it was so hard to say goodbye. I am always so afraid that she won’t come back. It feeds all my insecurities. It will be hard to be in the clinic without therapy. I will see my psychiatrist but it’s a completely different relationship dynamic and relationship. Today we did EMDR and dealt with the recurring flashback of one of my babies being born and taken away by my mother. It was my first baby born when I was thirteen.
“She pulled me off the bed and threw me to the floor. She called me horrible names. A harlot; devils child; whore; prostitute; bitch, no better than a dog on heat. The tirade continued in conjunction with a vicious beating consisting of repeated kicking to my stomach and back.Then she would stop and need to draw breath and my father would hand me the bottle of Vodka and make me drink copious amounts not allowing me to stop. She recommenced her targeted kicking. No sooner would I turn my back to her than she would step over me and continue her frantic and determined kicking to the stomach. I passed out unable to bear the pain any longer and when I regained consciousness they were gone and the room was locked. I couldn’t move. Every bone and muscle ached but waves of excruciating pain which rose and fell. It would stop and I would regain my breath and then the waves and spasms would begin again gaining in intensity. The pressure in my lower stomach was incredible. Between my legs was wet as if I had gone to the toilet and there was a large puddle of water on ground. I gripped onto the side of the bed, kneeling down as the spasms came closer and closer. I could not hold in my screams and yells. Then from between my legs a head appeared covered in white sticky goo. Two more urges to push I knew not what, could not be averted and out slide a perfectly formed head, body, arms and legs. Blue, silent. Motionless. Immobile. Apoplectic. Another spasm and again there was tubing attached to a piece meat. I sat up and there was red fluid and water surrounding me and this thing lying motionless on the ground in front of me. I did not touch it. Did not know what it was. What was it ? What had happened ? Why did a beating make this come out of my body ? I was totally memerised by this doll like, perfect blue still creature lying prostrate between my legs. I was terrified. What had I done to cause such an event and why could I not move. All I could do was cry uncontrollably in heaving sobs. The door then opened and without a word my mother entered, reached for a towel and scooped up the ‘thing with a face, tube and lump of meat’ up off the ground from between my legs and wrapped it roughly in the towel and just left the room saying “Get in the shower”. That is all she said to me. No explanation of what had happened. I passed out again and when I awoke it was morning and the sun was streaming through the window onto the floor. Someone had pulled me to one side and covered me with a blanket and all the blood and fluid most of all my lower back and stomach were cramping in ever increasing had been cleaned up. Clean clothes were laid out on the bed and there was a sandwich on the table by the bed with another bottle of Vodka. I greedily reached for it and drank a large gulp. Everything hurt. My body was bloodied and bruised. I wanted to shower and wash away it all but could not move. My legs could not hold me and my back and side were aching. I was finding it hard to breath. My ribs were aching. When I would take a breath in it would hurt my left side, so I could only take short shallow intakes of air. I passed out yet again and this time when I awoke it was night time and the room was dark. I was still in the same position unable to manoeuvre my body or limbs in any direction. This continued for three days and three nights. The only liquid I consumed was the Vodka. I became desperately thirsty and eventually that is what drove me to drag myself up off the ground and to the sink and using the plastic cup there, drink copiously from the tap marked H with it’s beautiful cold water. My legs were still unsteady and my breathing still short but I felt like I would be strong enough to go to the shower. I sat down in the shower just let the water run over me in total disbelief of what had happened. I had not explanation for it. I had no reference to link it to. No story I could attach to it to give it meaning. I just sat in under the riverlets of water streaming from the shower and cried copious tears until I thought I could cry no more. I ached for the ‘doll’ between my legs. To hold it. To caress it. To understand what it was.” We talked through the birth and she explained to me I had given birth to a baby as she had done many ties before. I cried tears of deep grief for the loss of my dead baby. It is a slow healing process.