Nothing Particularly Important, but Words all the Same

I was going to write about something witty. Something important. Something that would inspire, or just let you knows there are others out there that are going through the same as you are.
 

‘Cause, though it helps, it’s not me being smarter than you. Or me going through something thing you are. It’s a connection thing we need to feel with others. Rather than lording yourself above the rest. Like you know what’s meant to happen, or what you’re meant to feel, know, understand.

But who really cares. When someone talks to you as if you don’t know anything about yourself, or your own feeling. Or if they treat you like your emotions aren’t worth anything because they aren’t what said person says you should be feeling.
 

Well, it just doesn’t sink in. we read it. We get pissed at it. We’ll have a little rank and then everything that is you sinks to the bottom of the pile and you are forgotten, because as human’s we don’t want people to tell us what we are thinking, what we are feling is a pile of dog shit or worse, that what we are feeling isn’t actually what your feeling, because I said it isn’t, and in my brain what I feel or how you feel is what your feeling.

Fuck, that was a mouthful.

Anyway, this thought actually makes me think of when I was having my second child. Hell, really any time you go to a doctor, but my second was what’s really sticking out.

I went into the hospital at... I think it was after midnight, but my daughter gave me a lot more labour pains, I remember walking around my house, not able to find a moment of comfort were I stood or sat.

Anyway, we were at the hospital. I got the shot in the thigh, and went normally loopy (note, it was the first time any drug actually worked on me the way it should have) and after, I think 3 hours, maybe less, it felt like two days, I was telling the midwife that the kid was coming out.

“I don’t think so,” she says as she ambles around the room. She’s tired. It’s the end of her shit; she doesn’t want to deal with me. That was evident when we came in that night.

“Oh, no, I don’t think you need the shot, it will just stop the progression” and yeah, that’s what they always say, because it’s true, but the way she said it. Like she just wanted me to go the fuck home.

Anyway, she tells me that she’ll do an exam, and I’m all like, “oh it’s probably just a need to pee” ‘cause if you’ve ever had a kid, you do not want anything suck up you. Hell, no, all you want to push everything the fuck out.

Anyway, you don’t need a blow by blow, I had her, she’d… um, ya know, where the baby poos inside you and the midwife didn’t have any crash cart ready. She didn’t want to deal with it, and more on she truly believed I didn’t know what I was going on about when I looked at the clock at 5am and said to them all I wasn’t going to make it to 8am when the midwife that had been dealing with me all the time said she started and that I should hold the baby in so she can be my midwife.

Anyway, the whole thing. I haemorrhaged afterwards because I ended up having my daughter on the bathroom floor in the maternity ward and she didn’t have the short ready so we all got to watch as she pulled my placenta out in strands.

I lost nearly 5 pints of blood, that they could count. More went done the bathroom drain.

Anyway, safe to say I nearly died when having my daughter, but what I truly remember, even when I was up and walking around again, was how much they didn’t trust you knew what your body was going through. Like, yeah, people lie, but shouldn’t you at least hold some part that will look at what’s around you, at the person you’re talking to and see it. if not, what are you doing. What are you thinking, that you can’t see what’s in front of your eyes. and more so, maybe you should work that shit out before coming into a job that could kill someone, because I was lucky and when it happened it was change over time threw the hospital and so there was double, of everyone there, even more because of the early morning change.

Anyway, this probably isn’t what you care about, but it’s a point. People don’t want you to tell them how you feel. They don’t want you to say what they should be feeling. They want to know that there’s someone out there feeling what they are. And maybe some help in how to stop from feeling it. Or how to help yourself. Or more importantly that you will survive the whole ordeal.

Its why books, why writing is so objectifying.

And it’s what I’m struggling with as I write Book A, because it’s about a man who is in the beginning of PDS and when I read it I feel I’m not doing a good job. But the thing is I don’t want it to be textbook, because this is only going to be 10k and I don’t want to go into the happenings of PDS I just want to show his struggles as he tries to break free of what he’s known for the last 3 years.

But It’s not what’s normal. It’s not textbook and I feel it’s going to get slammed because of this. and I know this. I know and it’s something that I want. I don’t want it to be text book, hell I don’t what him to even realise that he’d got PDS until, maybe the end when he finally gets some help.

But more so I want this book to be about a side of a person when they get help just before they pick up a bottle and start to drink away the pain. I don’t want him to go that far down the path, sort of that moment where you have to roads, and both are going to be hard, but one won’t lose you your life.

Because my story is a romance, and a new one, and because of that, this book is about him taking that romance and making himself stronger, getting help, before he was able to begin to drown in the darkness of history.

I don’t want this book to be heavy, and hell, maybe I’ll write what would have happened if his lover hadn’t been there. maybe I will write a books comply and utterly about PDS because I think, maybe, my writing style would work well in that type of book, since I write so close to back of a person’s eyes, you can’t help but see what he’s seeing. And that, I think, would make your heart ache with feeling that the person telling the story is feeling.

But I’m not in a good place at the moment. Mentally as well as in, my writing and I don’t want to write something that comply and whole life destroying, until I’m a little further along.

But also, I’m a person that truly has to feel what I’m writing to be able to write it. That’s why I do through big bouts of blocks, because if I don’t hear it, or feel it, or see it, then I end up writing shit, and no one wants to read that.