**Trigger warning: post talks about pregnancy loss**
This is by far the most difficult story for me to tell. This memory, this loss, affected me more than the rape and torture throughout my childhood. It’s caused us to almost kill ourselves in the past. I didn’t know why my suicide attempts happened in June. It’s taken me years to see why. In 2006, I realized the horrible truth. A part of me came out and screamed for her lost baby. She cried and screamed for hours. I remember seeing and hearing this part, but it’s a fragment of memory. At the time we told our therapist. I never forgot about this loss, but I didn’t have more details until last year. In 2006, parts showed me images of a baby too small to be viable but definitely bigger than 1st trimester. She was lifeless and there was blood on her. There a was a dark towel or blanket that she was in. The part that went through this loss is only 13 or 14. I think she’s 14. She cries and screams like I’ve never heard before. There are others who hate themselves for not saving the baby. I tell them we couldn’t, there was no way. It’s difficult for them to let the guilt go. We’re working on it. Maybe they don’t always agree with me yet, but I know they listen.
I don’t know if I can even post this. All I have is fragments of memory, but they’re enough to put my life in danger. I feel like I’m getting stronger, and I can sit with some of the pain. It gets overwhelming fast though. I try to exercise because the pain sometimes translates into a nervous energy when parts are activated. This time of year they’re really active, even the ones far away. We call them the others. They hold the worst memories, and they are across a canyon in my mind. When I was a kid, I visited a place called Walnut Canyon in Arizona. People lived there a long time ago, and they built their homes into the cliffs. The others are in a place like that, across a canyon in my mind. It’s dark, so sometimes we try to send light to them. I admit that we want them to stay far away because when they get closer, we get flooded and chaos ensues. That girl who lost the baby is usually far away, but I can always hear her screams from across the divide. This time of year she’s closer, and her screams and cries are louder. When I feel her pain, it’s unbearable. I don’t think there’s anything worse that you can do to a human being. Losing a child is the most painful thing your heart can feel. I can’t even describe the pain and emptiness in my soul. When the ones who hold that memory are near I feel like a zombie; I move slowly, and I’m severely depressed. I feel like my soul has been ripped out.
Last year in June, I saw more detail. I saw the baby even more clearly. It was only a few seconds, and then someone covered her in the dark towel or blanket she was in. My therapist saved me that day. I called her because I was on the floor in extreme pain, and we were able to tell her what we saw. One of the parts, not the same one who screams, is very depressed and listless. She can barely move. She just tells me over and over that they wouldn’t let her see or hold her baby. The one who screams sometimes screams for her baby. They never got a chance to mourn her, they’re perpetually stuck in this heartbreaking moment in time. When I feel their pain it’s indescribable.
Last night I saw another fragment of a memory, like a two second movie. Even two seconds is too much. I saw a lot of blood, and it confused me. I just got this random intrusive memory of staring down at a lot of blood, so much blood, dark red. And in my peripheral vision, higher up and above I guess you could say, was a piece of cloth or rope, I can’t see it clearly, but it was dripping. Blood was dripping into a bucket or bowl, something circular contained this blood. I couldn’t figure out why I was seeing it, the image of the blood was so clear. A few minutes later, a part told me it was her blood. She was the one who lost the baby, so all of a sudden it made more sense. I don’t know why her blood was sitting there in a container, and I kind of still don’t understand. But it was the night they took her from us. I think they took her from us on purpose. Sure, I was young, but most miscarriages happen in the first trimester. This baby was bigger than first trimester. I can’t help but wonder if she would’ve lived had they let her, and who she would be now. I don’t know which horrible man did that to me. My mom told me once that my dad got a vasectomy after my little sister was born because she almost died while giving birth. She lost too much blood. I hate to say this, but sometimes I wish these things that happened to me did kill me. It’s easier than feeling this pain for the rest of my life. Anyway, it doesn’t matter which disgusting man did that to me. The summer this happened I turned 14, and my parents moved from the town I grew up in to a small town where I didn’t know anyone and was isolated. Maybe part of the reason my dad picked that new house, despite my mom hating it, was because he wanted to move me away from people who knew me. He always talked about how he had 4 acres of land, mostly woods. There was a conservation area behind us that I think was about 80 acres in size.
This loss destroyed us. The depression got worse and worse. I didn’t know why I was depressed because it was all compartmentalized. A part started cutting when we were 14, and I ended up in therapy shortly after. As I’ve said in previous posts, therapists would say to me that I had PTSD symptoms and asked me what happened, but I was confused because I remembered nothing. Now I see it all, and I won’t forget. I carry her with me everywhere I go. I need to tell this story so that she is remembered in some way. Bad people tried to erase her existence, but I won’t let that happen. We’ve always loved fireflies, and so when I see them I think of her. They have a beautiful light, but only for a second and then it’s gone.