Don't Sit Under That Apple Tree

I am me. I am. I am.
I'm the girl who falls for the wrong person.
Someone damaged in some way or another.
An Apple that has already been bitten
by the birds or the hungry little worm
or two.
Perhaps I am that hungry little worm.
Perhaps I am the bee that pollinates
the Apple blossom.

Alle

*Means alone in German. Or if not, well obviously my German needs improving.

This pregnancy just gets better and better in terms of my mental health.

I gave up anti-depressants earlier on in the pregnancy, which probably wasn't the best thing by me as depression reared it's ugly head again and I started to contemplate suicide again. I guess the only thing that keeps me hanging on is the fact that I am Catholic and couldn't bear two mortal sins (ie killing myself and my child) than the one. I still go to therapy every week and due to a complete and utter misunderstanding on my psychiatrists part (all I asked was if my second appointment in the month could be bulk billed, seeing I could only barely be able to afford him once a month, he also misconstrued what I was saying and recommended I see someone else...what on Earth? All I wanted was a yes or a no!) I now see another psychiatrist whom I've only just started seeing. And back on the meds. If the benefits outweigh the risks, it should be fine on my child. It's not healthy for a child to have a completely depressed mother who still has thoughts of topping herself.

And one disappointment from Owen to another. And now this. My sister and brother in law completely taking my opinions over a certain politician here way too seriously and continually labelling me a racist. I mean what the hell. Anyone who actually knows me knows that that isn't like me at all. Hell, two of my good friends are from Pakistan, I have lots of friends from different countries here and even another of my good friends was a refugee from Vietnam that went from refugee camp to refugee camp at such a young age. They said if I was joking why was I getting defensive and in hindsight I should have told them that being labelled an idiot, a racist and being told it's proof I was adopted makes me defensive. Way to work up a pregnant person. I wonder how many years it's going to be this time and if they're going to expect me to apologise. They never apologise for this and no doubt will feel that they've been wronged. Whom am I going to ask to be the Godparents of my child now?! And no doubt their version would be enough to turn my newly found relationship with my dad and grandparents to dust. Even though Dad hasn't talked to me since I told him about my pregnancy. And didn't even send a message to wish me a happy birthday. And my brother is completely unhappy about my pregnancy and I say so in censored terms. His explosive tirade at me was enough to convince me that he hates me as much and as deeply as he hates my mother.

And then there's the elusive Mother of mine. Excuses excuses on why she cannot call or send a message. And whenever we do talk she spends most of that phone call chatting about things I really don't give a rat's behind about when I need information about hereditary problems and you know, whatever mums and their pregnant daughters are supposed to be talking about. And then with me hardly getting anything in, she has the audicity to say "I have to go now." And hangs up.

What the hell is wrong with my family? What have I done to deserve this? (Despite the bleeding obvious of having pre-marital sex and having a child out of wedlock) Am I suppose to "grow up" or something? I thought I was handling my pregnancy and my life with utmost maturity. If they only knew just want hell my mind has gone through and is still going through. But no, they're just the kind of people to say I only want attention. Which is bullshit because I hate drawing attention from my family because it ALWAYS causes problems. Like the time I saw a psychologist when I was 14? And she had the great idea of bringing my mother AND my sister into a session with me, and my sister went completely off her brain at me and thought I was doing it all for attention and my depression was just bullshit. You know what happened after that session? After the hellride home I tried my best to lock myself in my room and for the very first time in my young life I started cutting. It actually felt an awful lot better than I felt.

So with my meagre family and friends....well really, I am alone. I don't think I've got anyone that's going to sit there with me and take me to the hospital when I give birth. Although Owen says he'll be there but I just know he's going to disappoint me again. I don't have faith in anyone anymore when they say they will be there and they will be supportive blah blah.

And as for my child? I'm not sure if I'm going to be much support either. I don't have faith in myself on sticking out this existance much longer after the birth. I'm barely coping as it is.

Say Hello To Barry Colours For Me

The title I would like to say came to be in a dream not a few hours ago. I have no idea what it means but in my dream I was on blogspot reading my blog and had an entry titled that for some reason. There you have it.

I've been sort of battling a writer's block if you will these past few months. It's been rather hard.

My news? Baby is doing quite well, I'll find out the gender hopefully this Wednesday coming. Owen and I just recently broke up for reasons I guess I can't vent out on this spot in cyberspace but I do hope for a future for both of us, I really do. It has been a lonely pregnancy thus far and I suppose not having him by my side (officially) doesn't make much of a difference if he wasn't there to begin with. I don't know. I hurt a bit. But it was my own doing so I shouldn't bitch about it so much.

I'm not sure what else to write. All I know is I had to write Say Hello To Barry Colours For Me. Trippy.