Changes

Well, every since the latest and worst c-section I have been miserable. Aside from not sleeping well, and having panic attacks and depressive bouts, I also have been riddled with migraines and stomach troubles. I think I have managed to hide it pretty well from those who know me, but still Hubby does look at me funny. Then there is the issue of birth control, as I think we definately need a break from having kids, but I do not want to go back anywhere near the damn doctor's office, which will leave me back at the Health Department and on the pill. I think I am going to look into some sort of natural family planning, but the other part of me just wants to say fuck it, bring on the kids, ya know. But I know that Hubby can't handle supporting us all, and although I would love to find some work writing, I cannot swing working a normal job. I am considering putting together a cookbook actually, and seeing about getting it published, but shhh, no one knows that yet.

Basically, I think I can take what I am already doing in school for my kids and turn around and market it for others. We will see. The other thing I wouldn't mind so much doing is developing a curriculum for kids, but time will tell. These days I am too angry to write anything too nice.

People keep telling me to get over it and stop being mad and to not allow anger to do whatever it is anger does to you. Blah Blah Blah. I am so not interested in not being mad right now. Every time I do anything I am reminded of what was stolen from me and the rape that they called this last birth. I am reminded of what being betrayed is like and how someone who is supposed to be there to look after your best interests can be so selfish and so blinded by their own issues.

The main good that did come out of this, is that Hubby was wonderful. He really stepped up when I needed him and for that I will always be grateful.

An Angry Laughing Mouth

My mouth, it screams secrets to the world,
Telling of injustices and victories,
My voice angry sometimes, sometimes serene,
Yet always yelling.

How else to hear over the clamour of tongues?

My mouth, an angry mouth,
Telling of slicing and of ripping and tearing,
My voice strong and far-reaching,
Yet always yelling.

How else to drive words into ears that don't listen?

My mouth, a laughing mouth,
Telling of tricks and games and delights and joys,
My voice trembling on the cusp of hilarity,
Yet always yelling.

How else to be heard over raucous laughter?

Then came the surgeon's hand, cutting and silent,
Gashing a new mouth, prying it open, then stapling it closed,
All the while, silent, and silencing that which dared to hope,
Muffled unto the quiet of death.

And who was there to hear the sound of weeping?

now my mouth is a crying mouth,
whispering of treachery and lies and hopelessness,
my voice barely audible and my tears hot as stones
never yelling

who would listen to my words anyway?

8-4-09