That miserable post of hers.

I hadn't wanted to do this post. I had thought some weeks back that maybe I should but I had chickened out some time last night and had ended up creating a bastardized fashion blog of sorts instead.

But then Roze post Adele's Don't You Remember on Faceshet and I'm left here bawling my eyeballs out with no one fucking around to console me.

See, that was the song I had chosen for Charlie's funeral service. My little girl that was born a stillborn on the 31st of June. My firstborn that would have been due today. We still do not know what went wrong, or what made her give up on me in there. Her heart just stopped. I had made light of the whole situation by saying that maybe Charlie got sick of listening to me talk to her in the bath about my daily events or how her Daddy or her Nan pissed me off and went Fuck you, Woman, I don't want to be born to a yapping cow like you. I had made light of it all. I am not built to come pouring out with emotions. It took me a whole bloody week after the birth before I finally came to Jaz, forced his arms around me and just wailed. The hardest, rawest cry I heard ever escaped from my throat was when the back of the hearse opened up with a white coffin the size of a shoe box and Jaz reached out to hold the coffin into the chapel. She would have been destined for greater things, My Charlie, I know. When I was pregnant with her, my stomach was so bloody huge I kept wondering if there were twins in there or maybe it was just a child in there who loved her space and her high ceilings. A kid that would have told me constantly, had she been given the chance to just be with us, Mommy give me my space. Even with her funeral, we ended up by some strange coincidence, with the first available space and it was a room that could hold up to 200 people. And there it was just, myself and Jaz, the chaplain and the undertaker. I don't believe I had ever cried that hard. I don't think I was ever that close to fainting just from grieving.

I never thought that all those while I kept rubbing my belly and said, I'll see you soon, that it meant it would only be from pictures. That is what they do, you know. They take pictures of the stillborn so that you can look at it and imagine WHAT THE FUCK IF. She would have had my hands, ears and nose, if you must know. My little Eurasian child. I have never been so angry at having something taken from me. Ever.

People have been telling me that it was not my fault. Jaz, especially, since he has been doing a fine job of picking me up physically when I crumple to the floor like a pack of cards to bawl whenever my emotional valve exploded. Why then? Was it because I was an inadequate, shitty human incubator? Does she not want me to be her Mummy? Where has Mama gone wrong, Charlie?

I went into labour an hour and a half after being induced. At least, I can now say I understand what mothers go through with labour pains. Didn't fucking make it worthwhile though when you walk out of the bloody maternity ward with afterpains, empty-handed and surrounded by other happy new parents taking pictures of their newborns AT THE BLOODY HOSPITAL ENTRANCE.

Bless them, they didn't know, said Jaz. Mainly to stop me from swinging at them, I think. Took me weeks to stop saying verbally 'Fuckers' when mothers shout at their little kids calling them Little Shits. They Didn't Know has since been my mantra. Fuckers. They didn't know. Fuckers. They didn't know. Fuckers. They didn't know. WHY DOES SHE GET A KID? Sorry, Baby. Fuckers. They didn't know.

I have developed into a basketcase. A foul-mouthed shithole of a potty-mouthed cunt. Honest.

Even during the labour, I was told to let go. My lower half had refused to let go of the half-delivered child. I can still remember Jaz holding my head and forcing me to look at him and he begged me to let go and I was crying then. I was bawling from the pain and from my little Charlie leaving the building. LetGoEllaYouAreUpsettingJarrod. LetTheFuckGoJarrodIsCrying.

After this whole ordeal, it has further confirmed my theory that most human beings are not worth my time. Most human beings I've known will always be a failure to humankind and it was no wonder I had little to no faith in it to begin with.

My dad, for instance, said to me in a message: I'm sorry for your loss. Don't forget your mother's birthday is on Monday.

What, the same one who disowned me when I called to tell her that I was pregnant? Nice, well you can tell her that she can stop worrying about what her relatives will think of her and what is she going to say when people ask her what had her daughter turned into because not only am I failure by sleeping with An Infidel, I also failed to carry his child full-term. What, your bastard grand-daughter? Oh, she kicked the bucket, you can tell her that.

Another close friend said: Think of it as a blessing because that child is a bastard in the eyes of the religion. You need to move on and go back home and support your family.

THAT child IS MY child and I don't give two fucks about it being a bastard in YOUR religion. Move on, like I had just trapped my bloody fingers under the fucking toilet seat? Mind you, this was DAYS after the birth. I have been my parents' fucking cash cow for years. I have disgusting debts under my name for THEIR SHIT. Really, if I have relatives reading this since it seems like I have some 100 hits from Singapore, you fucking tell them. KNOW for a fact why the fuck I am not coming back. Parents don't do this to their kids, you hear me? They create children, not cash fucking cows. Yes, we are indebted to them for bringing us into this shithole of a world. Yes, we owe it to them for the education they gave us. But if you hadn't thought that having children incurred costs then you shouldn't be having any. You just have just got cats. You don't threaten a child with a bloody bankruptcy. Never. Ever. I could not get fucking study loans for the shit they had piled on me.

So really, fuck the lot.

Jaz's mom said: It was only a foetus. People have miscarriages all the time.

What have this world turned into.

No wonder I never talked about it and it resulted in me self-imploding and turning into one hell of a massive arsehole.

It was only a foetus.

Dear Charlie,
                    You are my world. My everything. I hope you can still remember me, that strange woman who read you John Connolly before bed and asked you for Sudoku solutions. I hope you remember this woman who sang Paramore, Muse and oddly BoyzIIMen to you. I hope you remember that strange man who blamed you whenever he farted. That was your dad. That same man who asked you if you saw that, whatever that was, whenever something interesting came on the telly and Mummy had momentarily, spontaneously passed out. You are our child, something created out of something as simple and pure as our love for each other. You are our child that we had planned for for years but we get it that it was not the time yet. Maybe right now, you are on that another plane in a kiddy daycare somewhere. From what your nan said, I'm guessing you'd be having lots of friends up there. If you meet Amy Winehouse, please don't tell her that Mummy thinks she looks like a horse but sounds phenomenal. Mummy won't like that. Be good okay. We'll come and fetch you one day.