Vent

That old feeling of just wanting to disappear is back. I do not like December. I do not like Christmas. I do not like the feelings that come along with all of the memories. I am heartbroken all over again. Every year it is the same. I think that I am just going to stay at home and make my little nest safe and quiet. I am going to turn off all ringers on the phones, and sleep through it.

I am no longer amazed at the lack of happiness in my life. I have my husband and the last thing that I want to do is drag him down with me. So he will spend time with his family without me. I do not eat much anymore due to side effects from the meds that I am on so missing a meal won't bother me. I just don't know what to do with myself.

I said that I was going to start cleaning out some of the things in the "baby's room", but I have not had the strength--it is more anout the physical than the mental. I am really tired of having to keep that door shut because I just don't want to look at it.

I don't know what to say or do anymore. I am at a complete and utter loss. I am not in a good place. I felt at one point that there was a door opening, but not for me. I should have known better than to hope for anything good. I am just sick. I want to cry, and sometimes I do, but only when the tears come involuntarily. I don't think that I even know what to cry about anymore--there is just so much to cry about.

Grief is not my thing. I have never been a good griever. In my case the grieving never stops. As soon as one thing happens and I think that I am past it something else happens and I am thrust back into the midst of the storm again.

Lord, what do you want from me? You made me and you know. What more do I have to go through? How much more do I have to endure? How much more can I endure? I don't know, only You know.

My heart just is not in this anymore. I can't drive anymore. I don't go out of my house unless it is another visit to the doctor. I don't put clothes on until I shower, and then it is PJs again. I am just here, and I don't know where here is anymore. I am not living, I am just exsisting. I don't like it, but not much that I can do about it. It is in His hands and anything that I hope for is crushed anyway so I have very little need or use for hope at all.

Blah, Blah, Blah, I know this is how I sound, but it is all that keeps me sane most days. I really don't expect anyone to reply of even read, I need to vent. I need to write it down. Not in hopes of one day looking back at these words with our miracle child and thinking how ugly life was before. I need to write it down because even though it is not pretty or happy or full of hope it is where I am right now. It is where I have been for a long time.

And after so many years of having one hope or dream after another incinerated in front of my very eyes I should not expect anymore of myself. And to top it all off my body is once again betraying me by disentergrating causing immense pain and reminding me that there is really no hope of me even being able to carry a child, even if it isn't my own.

It means the death of never having anyone to ever call me mama. It means the death of all hope of ever giving my husband that ever longed for culmunation of our love. It means there are no miracles. At least not for me. It means a life of quiet solitude and reflection on all that I have missed out on. It means always feeling less than a woman. It means living in solitude even though I am married. It means getting used to always feeling lost in this female body that still longs to procreate, and stills menstrates as a show of rebellion--instead of quietly quenching that monthy fire that burns with promise even though there is none. It means living in this sad and barren land.