I just want to run away.
I was doing better, feeling - gasp - normal.
I was smiling more. My eyes stayed dry. August was a taste of life for me.
I thought September's downswing would pass quickly. I am, after all, behaving like a good mental patient. I'm taking my meds - antianxiety and antidepressants. ='m going to therapy.
I survived a friend's fb pregnancy announcement - handled it like a champ, actually.
And then my husband's brother called to say that his wife is pregnant again.
I swear to you - all of my dead baby sisters, I think, know this feeling - I felt as if someone shot me in the chest. Right where my heart used to be is a smoking black hole.
Internets, I lost my shit. I've been crying for three days. This is as bad as I've ever felt after a miscarriage. What's the point to therapy, to meds, if I'm right back in the midst of the crapstorm?
All I can think about are my dead babies, and the chances they'll never have. My hubby, and the pain on his face. The fact that I'm still a bitter, sad, selfish shit who cannot manage to summon an ounce of excitement for this soon to be babe. How Christmas is going to be unbearable because I'll be surrounded by the complete happy family. But my family will never be complete.
What if this is as good as it gets for me? What if, no matter what I do, the sucker punches keep knocking me out? I look ahead and see a life of blah punctuated by bouts of deep sadness. I don't see happiness waiting out there for me at all.
And all I want to do is run away.