"Ariel, cannot be trusted."

“I’m crashing. My cup has runneth over. I need a break.” Monday night, these were the words I uttered to myself as I walked out of work. I had a patient who almost made me snap (a shitload of countertransference there) and I thought, okay Ariel it’s time to check out. In her defense she didn’t do anything but be honest and answer my questions. In my defense, I was not in a good mental space and the snap was coming very soon. It was an intake, and she expressed that she was having non-stop thoughts in which she couldn’t control. She recently gave birth and has been obsessing over the idea that her son could die. I wanted to tell her “You should obsess over this. My daughter’s dead and I never even considered that happening, why wouldn’t it happen to you?” Of course I didn’t say that but just the mere fact that I wanted to, was enough. I needed a break.

These last several months have been so emotionally and physically draining for me and it was all finally catching up to me. Working three jobs six days a week, hustling to save as much money as possible to move, trying to process a break up, Jennessi being in Puerto Rico and me having no communication with her despite trying every single day, Aubrey’s deposition and finding out just how negligent the hospital was in leading up to her death, me not doing anything for myself this summer but being present at everyone else’s activities and events, and listening to people’s issues day in and day out not only at work but in my personal life, all while never complaining and never saying no to anyone -- I was fucking TIRED. See what I did there? That long ass run on sentence where when you read it, you almost can’t catch your breath before it ends? That’s exactly how my life has felt these last two and a half months, like I just kept going and couldn’t catch my breath. I decided I needed a day of solitude because I just wanted to be able to breathe.

In all honesty, I am a thirty year old woman and I do not owe any one any explanations with how I decide to spend my days and my time however; I thought I was being responsible when I texted my sister “I’m calling out tomorrow I need a day to be alone.” She even offered me her house and I declined. I got home and my dad could see the stress on my face. He asked me “Today’s a bad day?” and I told him the same thing “I’m calling out I need to have a day to myself, to regroup” in which he replied, okay, enjoy. Kissed me on my forehead and I went to sleep.

I woke up the next morning early in the morning, jumped in the shower, got dressed and decided to start my ME day early on. I turned off my phone, mapped out what I wanted to do that day and I was excited to disconnect from the world. Typically, my phone rings non-fucking-stop, every single day between emails, group chats, DM’s, FB messages, text messages, phone calls and social media notifications and I just didn’t want to deal with anyone else but myself that day. I made the decision that my phone was going to stay off and for good reason, I did say I wanted to be alone, right? I would have never even thought that a fucking circus act would ensue from this.

I don’t know who started what, but I do know the end result. MASS HYSTERIA. I promise ya’ll, just reliving this is causing me intense anxiety because I cannot even begin to believe that this bullshit even happened and that the people closest to me orchestrated this mess. My friends and family realized my phone was off and thought it would be smart to rile one another up. Long story being long, people were dispatched my NEW APARTMENT where I just got the keys to six days ago, reported me “missing” to security and had them intrusively open my door to not find me there. Phone calls were made to my job, to my ex-boyfriend, they even showed up at his house. I had 10 voice mails and over 35 text messages. It was 3:30pm and a fucking search party was sent out for me.

When I finally realized what the fuck was going on I lost my entire mind. DIDN’T I SPECIFICALLY SAY THAT I NEEDED TIME ALONE? I had a breakdown and cried for about the next 6 hours continuously.

See before you all jump to their defense and tell me that it was done out of love and concern I’m going to tell you this: I have considered that and guess what? Still does not make what happened okay, nor does it justify anyone’s actions. Remember a few paragraphs ago where I said I notified two people? One of who was the ring leader in this circus act. That was more than I needed to do. I am not responsible for the lack of understanding of what “alone time” meant to them nor the lack of communication amongst everyone who participated in this shit show.

Since this blog is about my perspective, let me explain why their actions upset me so much. Everything and everyone I was trying to escape just showed how needy and dependent they are with me, my time and attention, and just made me feel like no matter what I do to have me time, they will always track me down and find me. Their actions were intrusive by invading my personal space and privacy. But the icing on the cake was the explanation “well, we did what we did because we were worried.” I have asked repeatedly “what is there to worry about?” everyone has told me the same thing- “well we know the timing and you being stressed so we worry.” Okay, I get it, August 31^st is this week and we all know that is Aubrey’s death anniversary, so naturally my stress, anxiety and overall emotions are high. Wouldn’t this mean I need time to process? Why is this a cause to worry? Their actions and their worry translated to me as “We don’t trust you to deal with your grief and emotions alone and you need to be monitored.” My next question is, when over the last three years have I ever shown signs of wanting to harm or hurt myself? When have I ever been a cause to worry? And when I was at my breaking point haven’t I always sought professional help?

What they don’t realize is, they took away from my grieving process by projecting their own fears and concerns on to me and negating my ability to cope. So in case you are all wondering why I reacted to negatively to what you all did to me this week it is because you all successfully stole my progression and in turn, pushed me back down the slippery slope I had tried so hard to climb off of by simply telling me “You cannot be trusted.”

I know this was not the intention, but this is how it was received. And quite honestly, this isn’t about anyone else BUT ME, so my impression is really the only one that matters. In being made to feel like I cannot be trusted to grieve, it also implies that for the rest of my process I will be vigilantly watched, my actions dissected and be a cause of worry for people. This is the problem with people when we see someone else go through something we don’t understand. We judge, we label and we assume. I have been labeled as the vulnerable person who’s gone through the unspeakable and so therefore I am so fragile and delicate to the point that now everyone around me, pities me. My grief journey has now been diminished to pity.

Since then, my parents have profusely apologized to me, and so have some of my friends. But I don’t believe they really understood what they took away from me. My opportunity for peace. I have been asked to consider the perspective of others and isn’t that what I do every day? I consider so many other people day in and day out that I don’t ever consider me. I give so much and never give to myself. I wanted one day to just be the focal point in my own life and to focus on my own needs. So often people will tell me “you work too much,” “you need to be selfish and stop doing everything for everyone,” “you need to have time for yourself.” And yet with the way this day transpired, these same people told me “do those things, but under our conditions and in a matter in which we feel comfortable.” I literally got text messages that said “I’m glad you’re okay but don’t ever do that again,” “I don’t care what you think I would do this all over again,” and my personal favorite "you are not allowed to turn your phone off." How dare people tell me what I can and cannot do in my self-care and that my feelings are invalid because theirs were more important.

I am truly having a hard time in even accepting that this happened, because I have sat and thought about it for the last 48 hours and I honestly keep coming to the same conclusion “I am not to be trusted with how I cope and process.” I am overwhelmed. And one thing is for sure, I am very vocal about my feelings, vocal about my experiences and vocal about when I have had enough. I just cannot believe that the very people who depend on me daily to be responsible and reliable do not trust me to be that to myself, when that was the very intention I tried to execute.

My anxiety is now on maximum overload. I am intensely hurt by the people closest to me and now I feel like I need to climb back into my shell and continue the exhausting façade of everything is going just great. Ariel is not allowed to take a break, Ariel is not allowed to need space and time, and Ariel is not allowed to be overwhelmed because in everyone’s eyes Ariel is “the strongest person we know.” Yet, when the strong show signs of weakness, we cannot trust their judgment to help themselves. You guys have no idea what dents you caused in my mental health and well-being.  

I slept the next day for 14 hours. That’s how real my exhaustion was. I barely sleep 5hrs a night on a daily basis. This was three days’ worth of sleep. Today, I don’t want to talk to anyone, I don’t want to interact with people and I do not care to hear any more I’m sorry, from anyone. People have said to me “let this be a lesson to both sides,” but no. I didn’t need a lesson and looking back I would not have done anything differently. I needed a fucking break. I still do. I need a day where it isn’t about anyone else BUT ME.

To those of you who were participants and to those of you who are reading, let this resonate with you and be a lesson of listening and empathy. Everything, is not always about you. We need to listen when our loved ones tell us what they need either verbally or by their actions. Sometimes, being supportive means respecting boundaries, respecting personal space, respecting people’s decisions and putting yourself in their shoes in understanding that we ALL need a moment to regroup. You are not the driver of someone else’s car. You cannot always steer the wheels for them, or control which way they are going. We need to trust the people we love will make the right decisions, and if they don’t, you then decide how to move forward from there. Jumping to conclusions, smothering and controlling another person’s process will backfire. And when the trust is gone, there is usually no turning back.

Dear August...

Dear August, I hate to love you.

I didn’t want to write this month to be honest. Well, that’s not true. I always want to write, I just didn’t think I could get through writing this month. I have nothing positive to say. This isn’t one of those posts that will have some Aha moment or some great lesson learned. Fortunately for me, writing is my therapy. Unfortunately for me, writing about my most painful experiences isn’t always as therapeutic as I would hope. Some of these things I have spoken a lot about, others I have not. Regardless of what I share, what remains constant in writing these posts is that putting words on paper make my experiences more real. There’s no escaping it if it’s written down for the world to see. You know what they say, if it’s not documented, it didn’t happen.

As a fun fact, I used to journal all of the time. Like I said, this was my Therapy. My last writing project before this blog, began March 10^th, 2015 when I found out I was pregnant. I decided I was going to keep journals for Baby Cruz throughout their life and on their 18^th birthday give my baby all of my journals, so they can relive their childhood through my eyes. This project ended when I stopped writing that August. Now, here I am three years later in August trying to formulate all of my thoughts to work on a new writing project. This is the ultimate test of strength for me. I’ve been staring at this blank canvas for six days. Every time I decide to write, it’s blank. Since August 1^st, I’ve been consumed with what I was going to write about and how writing this month it just too painful. So here I am-pushing myself beyond my limits.

Before I decided to write today I had some time in between appointments and while being alone in my office, I decided to try to clear my mind. I closed my eyes, counted backwards from ten, took a deep breath and left my eyes closed for about sixty seconds. In those 60 seconds I had saw myself free falling down the rabbit hole, into complete darkness with no end in sight. Although the silence in my room was deafening, with my eyes closed I could hear myself screaming even though no one else could. I covered my ears and lowered my head as if that would make the noise stop. My palms were sweaty, my throat was closing and my stomach felt like it was floating. The realization that I could not escape my thoughts, clear my mind or change my negative feelings couldn’t have been clearer to me than it was in that one minute.

The truth is, for the rest of my life August will be the most anticipated and dreaded month of the year for me. It’s only been three years and I have been consumed with the thought of how many more years are left. August played this awful, evil trick on me. August made me come alive and then killed me. August gave me everything I ever wanted then stole my light, my dreams, my future and my heart and soul. August will forever be embedded in my heart as the strongest intensity of emotions I will ever feel throughout my physical life.

Dear August, I fell in love.

August 17^th, 2015 was the happiest yet scariest day of my life. Although I had already been a mom for seven years, this was my first time giving birth. Add a traumatic birthing experience to that and I was literally mortified. I went into labor at approximately 2am. I had already been hospitalized for three days prior to stop labor, but Aubrey was coming and there was no stopping it this time. When that first contraction came I knew, today’s the day she’s coming. I felt like I had just been rear ended. That’s the best way to describe the shock and impact that first contraction brought me. I tried to self-soothe for about the next hour. I made myself as comfortable as I could in the hospital bed, started watching TV and I even ate a donut for comfort. I kept telling myself, we got this. I knew in that moment there was nothing she and I couldn’t get through together. About an hour later the contractions are more intense and I call the nurse. She tells me I wasn’t in labor because the contractions were not registering on the fetal monitor. I would later learn that the reason for this was because my uterus was too small for the machine to pick them up. So the nurse proceeds to tell me my pain was from dehydration and she hooks me up to an IV. I knew my body though, I was hospitalized before for dehydration with this pregnancy. This wasn’t it. So I forced myself to take a nap and I let this know-it-all do “her job. “

6:30am I literally cannot take it anymore. I’m screaming to the nurse to get her ass in here and do something. Again she argues with me that I was not in labor. I’m like listen lady get me a fucking doctor now. And so she does, because who’s going to keep going against a pregnant woman in pain? Well, well, well… I beg the doctor to just appease me and do a cervical check because I kept feeling like Aubrey was kicking my vagina. And what happened next? I’m being rushed into labor and delivery from antepartum and everyone is screaming and they’re literally running me down the hallway in my gurney. I’m freaking out. WTF is going on? Where are we going? What’s wrong with Aubrey? One nurse comes to me and says listen honey here’s my phone, call your birth partner, we’re having the baby today.

I thought I was going to shit myself from my nerves. Was I really going to give birth? So many thoughts ran through my head. So many questions. Was I ready? Was she ready? Was I going to be a good mom? The doctor came back and apologized for scaring the shit out of me and explains, that during that cervical check, she grabbed Aubrey’s foot. Aubrey was slipping out and was breech. We were going in for an emergency c-section. I was devastated. I wasn’t going to be pushing my baby out? I felt robbed in that moment of the experience of becoming a mother, but I only wanted to best outcome for Aubrey since there were so many more trivial things to consider. This was only the beginning to my being robbed, yet this was out of everyone’s control.

9:40am Aubrey Brielle Cruz was born. 1lb 12oz, 13 inches long, 26 weeks 4 days gestation. My micro-preemie. My beauty. My life. My love. My everything.

I remember being in so much physical pain after that c-section I couldn’t even breathe. I literally thought I was never going to feel any better and I couldn’t fathom how people do this multiple times. I couldn’t feel my legs, I thought no bullshit that I was paralyzed. But the joy, happiness and love that filled my heart made me forget all that pain and I felt like I could run if I needed too. All I wanted to do was get out of the bed and go straight to the NICU. I couldn’t do that of course, I mean well I could but the nurses and doctors wouldn’t let me. Trust me I tried. I kicked and screamed and nagged to see her, but the answer was still no. Everyone else met Aubrey before me. It took me 36 hours to see her. My anxiety was killing me. I couldn’t wait to just connect with her and see this perfect baby girl I brought into the world. My parents, sister and her dad would come into my room to tell me what she looked like, show me pictures and give me updates on her. This just wasn’t enough for me. I needed to be with her and I thought the next day couldn’t come soon enough.

Surprisingly, my favorite part of the day she was born was filling out her birth certificate. My name was registered as MOM. Ya’ll don’t even know how much I prayed to be able to say that. SO many doctors told me that would never happen and here it was. Aubrey and I did the impossible. I remember telling her dad profusely thank you and I love you that day. I know you guys have all read about the abusive relationship I was in with him and how during my pregnancy he continued to spiral and battle with his own demons; but one thing that was for sure, the day she was born was the happiest day of our lives. He and I had been through so much and when we conceived her we did so out of love and hope. I finally had my love baby here with me. Regardless of what has happened between us, I will always love him and appreciate him for giving me Aubrey. That is one thing no one will ever change. He may have done so many things wrong, but Aubrey was the one thing he absolutely did right. And so, for that I am forever grateful.

The next 14 days were the happiest days of my life. I would sit in that NICU for hours and hours on end. I would read to her, help change her diapers, tell her all the dreams I had for her, how perfect life was going to be and reminded her every moment of the day just how much she was loved. She was the smallest baby in the NICU, but also one of the healthiest micro-preemies to have ever entered the room. I was just so proud of my fighter. Every passing day, she beat another odd. Night time was the hardest for this NICU mom. Going home after you’ve given birth with no baby is the weirdest feeling in the world. It’s almost like did this really happen? I know I’m pumping breast milk every 3 hours and this c-section incision hurts like hell, but my baby isn’t here. I would call the NICU at all hours of the night. There was never anything really new other than “Mommy, she’s doing great.” That’s all I needed to know. I was patient because we had a lifetime to spend together. She was worth the wait.

August 30^th, 2015 goes down in history as the second best day of my life. It was Jennessi’s 7^th birthday and it was the first day I was able to hold Aubrey skin to skin. I was the happiest mom in the world. My girls were growing beautifully. They were happy and healthy and I got to touch, kiss, smell, feel and soak Aubrey in. I never wanted to put her down. My sister was with me and took the best pictures of her and me. I was just in awe of her beauty and her tenacity. I swear every moment I looked at her I fell deeper in love. I left the NICU that evening on cloud 9. Aubrey was perfection. That night I got a call from the NICU. She was growing!!! She was 2lbs, 14.5inches long and her progress was phenomenal. This little girl continued to surprise me every day.

The next day I remember waking up early in the morning and send her family members a picture with her new stats. Her two week update. I was THAT mom, who boasted about their child. I wanted to share with the world how awesome she was doing and that the day before, her doctor said she would be home in time for the holidays. There was no greater feeling, until my caller ID read “Montefiore Medical Center” and when I said Hello, I heard her Doctor say “Mom, Aubrey is sick.” The next couple of hours would spiral out of control. I remember every single moment, yet it all seems like a blur.

August 31^st, 2015 12:02pm that same doctor looked at me as I held Aubrey in my arms telling her over and over again “I’m so sorry, I love you so much” and uttered “she’s gone.” I died that moment too.

Dear August, you broke my heart.

Here we are three years later. Just a couple of days ago on July 31^st, I woke up with this intense motivation to find Aubrey a birthday present. This year was quicker though, I found her the perfect gift in a few hours. I guess I’m getting better at it, despite every year it being constant struggle to find the best gifts for her for her birthday and for Christmas. It was so much easier for Jennessi. I knew what she liked, I knew what she needed and she knew how to talk and how to ask for what she wanted.

You can’t just turn around to your dead child and say, “Hey what would you like this year for your birthday?”

I know that sentence is uncomfortable for you all to read. It probably pierced you in your gut, you know like things that make you sigh deeply because you say to yourself damn I really felt that. I toy around a lot with finding the appropriate word and phrase when talking about Aubrey and her death. Deceased. Passed Away. Transitioned. And I do so because the truth is, DEAD is so vulgar and so final and it just makes people uncomfortable. But that’s what happened. This is final. This pain is vulgar. My life is non-stop discomfort.  

My daughter is DEAD.

I cannot write publicly the details of what happened to Aubrey. I honestly just cannot bring myself to do that. Recently on June 29^th, I had to recount in grave detail what happened that dreadful last day of August. I never want to relive those moments aloud again, because I relive that day every day in my mind and saying those words destroys me. I also just recently found out the TRUTH behind her untimely demise and I have way too many emotions behind it to even begin to process. Plus, telling everyone won’t change what happened. She is never coming back.

That first week of September, left me in absolute shock. Between the day Aubrey died and her funeral on September 5^th, 2015 I lost 20lbs. I passed out several times, I don’t ever think I slept, there was not a moment I wasn’t crying and I was completely withdrawn. Trauma does this to you. You become completely disassociated. On two separate occasions, I walked into the street at busy intersections and sat on the floor staring into space. My family pulled me out. They say they were calling my name and screaming to me and I didn’t respond. I have no recollection of this, but all I know was I was in a trance, in this horrible nightmare and I couldn’t make it stop.

The one thing I do remember, was the intense fear I felt having to tell Jennessi that her sister was dead. How do you crush your child’s heart this way? She prayed for her. She experienced pregnancy with me, she was so excited for her sister and our family and now I had to tell her all her hopes and dreams were shattered. I was an adult and I couldn’t handle that reality, how could she? I swore she was going to hate me forever. Luckily for me though, Jennessi does not have that in her heart. I like to think we did a good job raising her to be a loving, kind, forgiving, empathetic and passionate young girl.

The days and months continued to pass, despite me not wanting them too. I prayed for time to stop. I counted each minute, hour, day, week and month that moved me further away from the moments I spent with Aubrey alive. I wanted to be with her, wherever she was, and now all I had left was a box of her things, and a box of her ashes. I will never forget the moment when I decided we would cremate her. The funeral director asked me what my plans were for her funeral. I told him, I don’t know, I’ve never planned a funeral before and didn’t think I would need too. He asked about a burial or cremation and without me even processing I replied “I’m only 27yrs old. If I bury her, I can never leave The Bronx. I have no idea where life will take me and I need her with me for every moment of my life. She has to stay with me wherever and everywhere I go, so cremation it is.” I am still in awe that in that moment I was able to rationalize and think ahead. The mind is a wonderful gift.

It kills me to admit this but for the first 8months after I left her ashes in the box in my closet. I couldn’t bring myself to not only display her but to even open the box. My daughter was in a box, in my closet and I wanted to hide that from everyone, including myself. So many times I would sneak her out, make sure no one was around and just cry hysterically with the box in my hand. I was so shameful of this. I had so much anxiety thinking about if anyone ever caught me doing this. I thought this made me crazy, and I just didn’t want anyone to know this about me. Now, I kiss her every chance I get proudly. But this was a process, one I obviously am still going through.

The stages of grief are intense and they are most definitely not linear. The smallest things trigger you, people don’t understand you and you always feel exposed. I literally hate being around other mothers and their kids at times because I feel like there’s a stamp on my forehead that says “MOM OF A DEAD CHILD” and everyone is looking at me with pity, sorrow and fear. While people feel sorry for me, they don’t want to be me. That’s okay I don’t want them to be me either. I have lost so many nights of sleep due to horrible nightmares. So many days I cannot concentrate because I have flashbacks out of nowhere, or my mind is racing to try to remember all the details about her because I fear I’m going to one day forget her. I feel like I am torturing myself, but I also feel trapped in this rut and I don’t want to come out of this. Although I don’t wish this pain on anyone, this pain reminds me she was real.

I contemplated discussing my experience with the stages of grief but honestly, there’s so many moments in which I go back and forth that I can literally write a book. I will say this much though, each year solidifies a new stage.

Year One August 2016 – Denial and Bargaining was all that consumed me. I was still in shock and didn’t believe this really happened. I bargained so very much with God, myself, my family. The pain of her loss was so intense I didn’t want to feel this way anymore. I begged for ways out, begged for this nightmare to end, and begged for some happiness to come into my life, yet it just wasn’t happening for me. I cannot say I was suicidal, but I cannot say I had much willpower to live. My parents are the reason I never thought of a plan, or seriously considered any ideations. I couldn’t let them live with the intense pain I felt. No parent deserves this, and I love them too much to purposely hurt them this way. Plus, in all honesty, my mother would not have been able to survive that. So I had to no choice but to be stronger than I knew she ever could be.

Year Two- August 2017- Depression was in full effect. Year two was harder than year one. It solidifies the deal. Aubrey was gone and she was not coming back. I was stuck in this nightmare forever. The depression I felt consumed me so deeply. I thought I was not going to ever breathe comfortably again. I was so angry and I was in just disbelief that this was me. I refused to accept this as my life.

Year Three- August 2018- Anger is at the center of this year. Anger with finding out just how my baby girl suffered and died. Anger with knowing that I have to live the rest of my life without her. Anger with knowing that one day I have to accept her death as a part of our journey. And finally anger with myself that as a mother, I could not save my daughter’s life.

I am not yet ready for Acceptance. I don’t know if I ever will be, but every day I pray I reach this stage. I want to be able to accept that for whatever the reason, Aubrey’s death was part of a greater life plan. The problem is, that just doesn’t make sense to me. Why would the universe give her to me just to take her back? Maybe one day I’ll find the answer, but I know today, this year that’s not where I am. So many people tell me “Everything happens for a reason.” I legit, fucking hate that damn phrase. If you’re still reading this at this point, please take heed, don’t say that dumb shit to a grieving mother. If you feel like saying this, look at your child and find a reason why they should die before you, then come back to me and tell me what that is. If you can find a good, logical reason, please share that with me. I guarantee you though, you will not. So please people, stop saying this nonsense. There is no reason for my daughter’s death. Period.

One thing I have accepted though is that the love I have for her continues to grow every single day. That I will live my life with this intensity of emotions until the day I am reunited with her. I knew since the moment I found out she was growing inside of me, that nothing would ever compare to what I felt for her and well, each day just reminds me of that.

If there is anything I can share about this journey, it is that you must allow myself to feel what you need to feel, when you need to feel it. Anger, hurt, pain, sorrow, depression, loneliness, guilt, shame, happiness, love and ultimately, hopefully one day, acceptance. Sometimes I don’t want to be comforted, other times I need to be. Sometimes I want people to ask about her, other times I don’t want to talk at all. This is a never ending cycle of learning how to deal with my own emotions. 

Oh, now that I come to think about it, I guess I lied at the beginning of this post. There is always a lesson to be learned.

So in ending I must say this much, despite all the negative emotions associated with her life and death, one things remains certain I always stayed true to my promise to love her more deeply than anything in this world. This will never, ever, change.

Dear August, I pray one day you bring me peace.