When Words Hurt

Ok so I really don’t know who I’m trying to kid by claiming I’m not going to talk loss in this space and I’m going to do some other posts right now. That’s just not happening.

Guys – it’s the one year anniversary of Nadav’s death on the 21st. That’s soon. And the truth is I’ve been feeling the burden of it heavily. So heavily that not only has it been clouding my emotions, it’s been clouding my judgement.

And you want to hear the worst part of it? The cerclage and the bed rest? They start at the same time as the anniversary.  I once thought that might be a good thing, you know – two birds with one stone or something. Now I’m not so sure.

Let me backtrack though for a second by telling you guys something I’ve never shared publicly before to give you a context:

Two days after coming home from the hospital after we lost Nadav, some psycho posted a comment on my blog calling me a murderer. He didn’t know what had happened. I guess he just assumed that I had had a late term abor.tion or something and he decided to advocate for a cause by tearing me to shreds. The psycho obviously was not there looking for context. He (or she) didn’t care to find out how loved, wanted and hard-fought Nadav was. He didn’t care that he was posting a lie.

I never published that comment of course, and over the course of a week or so a group of online friends did my moderation for me, just in case any more psychos wanted to come out of the woodwork. I pretended that I wasn’t hurt by this psycho. But the truth is that his (her, whatever) comment dug deep and haunts me to this day.

I know logically that I had no control over what happened with Nadav. But any woman who has had the failure of her own body cause a loss can relate to this: you always blame yourself on some level.

So on bad days – the ones that require a lot of anti-psychotic meds and a lot of tissues – I hear that word echo in my head: Murderer.

I wish I could say that this experience immunized me against hurtful words. It did not. And the circumstances have of late made things a thousand times worse.

Because I’m on seriously shaky emotional ground right now. The cerclage, the bed rest, the anniversary. Trying to prepare for all of it. A perfect shit storm.

So like every emotionally unstable person even the slightest provocation on my psyche sets me into a tailspin.

I won’t name names or link links, but in the last few days, some shit has gone down. I didn’t want to be a part of it. But then I was. And then I made things worse by losing my shit because I’ve been on such rocky ground to begin with.

Let’s just say things have not been pretty around these parts.

I’ve been wanting to come on here – to write ranty manifestos as I tend to do when I deal with conflict. But I find myself deathly afraid of what will come in the comments. I find myself deathly afraid of reading any comment thread anywhere for fear it will send me into a hysterical crying fit.

After all – a wise woman pointed out to me yesterday – you put yourself out there and people react. You are a public entity merely by having a blog.

My husband also painted a clear picture for me:

If I was in a room with 10 people, 9 of whom told me I was beautiful, and one who said that I was fat and ugly, what would I remember – the sea of compliments or the single insult?

Alas – these days I harp on that single insult. It sits in me and festers. Even well meaning people who simply want to have a discussion make me feel like a thousand knives are being stabbed into my body.

And yes – I know that’s a bit dramatic. Because that’s where I am right now. I’m falling to pieces at the slightest provocation.

The last 48 hours have brought up a lot of questions. Those of you who follow me on twitter know that there was a moment that I lost it and said I was shutting it all down: The blog, the podcast, everything.

But I can’t do that. The podcast firestorm happened on the ALI blogosphere. That makes up about 10 percent of our listenership. There are hundreds of women out there that have no idea what happened, and never will know. And they love the podcast and send us emails every day thanking us for it. I can’t just abandon that. And I can’t abandon this blog. Because I know that at the end of the day I need it – and I need all of you.

Like all of your amazing comments on my last couple of posts.I felt loved, held, and supported.

But there were still a couple of comments that gave me that stabby feeling. Still the assholes who decided that somehow I’m “lucky” to have a dead son. There is still all of this shit happening right now behind the scenes that I simply cannot handle emotionally. I find myself making bad decisions, alienating people I care about, and crying over this stuff way more often than any stable person should.

Yesterday I was recounting all of this drama to a friend of mine who happens to be a therapist. He wisely pointed out that every person’s role in any group dynamic usually reflects their hidden desire to be heard. So the person who put on the guise of support while vying for sympathy in their subtext has a specific need to be heard. The person who posts a passive aggressive attack under the guise of being apologetic simply needs to be heard. The person who flames me completely just because I can get pregnant has a specific need to be heard. The person who posted questions for a discussion – has a need to be heard. And yes – my adamant and lovely supporters readers and commenters have a specific need to be heard.

I write here. I podcast. Obviously I have a need to be heard.

But I am not in any sort of emotional space to do any listening right now. I have a hard couple of weeks coming up. I have enough salty wetness ahead to last me a lifetime. I don’t need to add the salty wetness that can be caused and has been caused as of late in this space, in my email exchanges, or on the podcast.

So at the urging of a few close friends, I’m stepping away for a little while. From everything. I’m taking a break from listening and from speaking. Because my sanity comes first.

I don’t know when I’ll be back. I may come back here to commemorate the one-year mark on the 21st, I may not. I may come back right after going on bed rest. I may come back later than that.

I will be back. But only when I stop being afraid of opening up a comments section. Only when I know I’ve managed to rebuild some sort of thick skin. Only when I know that the hurtfulness, malicious or not, will not echo in my brain like that psycho did a year ago. I have enough demons and ghosts, and I choose to not create any more right about now.

Hope you guys are here when I come back.

And in case I’m not here on the 21st, please light a candle – whether physical or symbolic – for my son. Because he deserves to be remembered, no matter what else is happening.

See you all on the flip side.

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