Pregnant with the impossible, it seems as if my baby is already ready to die.
Awoken by kicking in my stomach, I have hopes and ambitions that are uncomfortable inside of me. I’m nauseous. The violence in my dreams at night while I sleep is never the reason for my night terrors. The terror begins when I’m awake.
Cortisol levels are highest in the morning. The pressure used to spring me out of bed and into action, taking on the day like a gladiator; now it breaks my heart. The fight in me won its right to freedom some time ago. So I’m breeding a new champion who hasn’t even been born yet. Dodging doubt and depression, I stay busy with my attempts at love, success and prosperity. Sometimes I feel sorry for my baby. There’s so much pressure for it to make me proud, accomplish so much and ultimately justify my existence.
I got to understand my father so much more when I concluded that his genes were passed down to me. He was the most charming, intelligent, hypersexual, aggressive, hardworking, violent, irritable and overly emotional man I’ve ever known. More importantly, his delusions of grandeur convinced him that I was to be the smartest in my class, the most cultured of my culture, and as much of a man as Marcus Garvey, Martin Luther King or Malcolm X. I can only imagine the horror as I grew up, unresponsive to his violence, unsettled by his accusations and unfazed by his punishment. I can only imagine how much pain and discomfort his disappointment with me caused him–especially based on a bipolar brain’s ability to magnify imperfections and amplify emotions. The PTSD set me back a couple decades but here I am.
No way I’d ever let my creation be human…
Despite all the drugs and alcohol, the workaholic workout junkie who’s chronically fatigued can’t seem to have a miscarriage. No. Not quite. Instead I deal with mourning sickness when I’m so unmotivated, utterly unimpressed and uninspired by anything – it’s like my heart’s going to stop beating out of sheer boredom. Ignorant people would recommend that I think differently and try being more positive. They are unaware of things like serotonin receptors, low dopamine levels, fatigued adrenal glands, allostatic load or any other neurological/biochemical factor that would sound like excuses to them. Even to me, though I’m relatively well-versed on this matter.
Despite doing the same thing every day expecting a different result, which most call insanity, I call it faith. For some reason I can’t seem to rid myself of the desire to make a positive difference and impact on others. So I mourn the thought of trying and failing, sick to my stomach with bittersweet. I call it mourning sickness when it’s the morning and I’m mourning the loss of the past, while loathing the oncoming future.
But I will bear the burden. I will give birth.
About Mickey Von Bron
Mickey Von Bron is a certified personal trainer who specializes in nutrition, supplements and natural methods of improving health and wellness. Having experienced and overcome many obstacles associated with mental health and addiction, he is committed to inspiring people through his own example. His first book, Drug Free June: A Hypomanic Episode, is soon to be published. You can read some of Mickey's other writing about mental health at AliveAndAwake.ca and Light Way of Thinking.