Grace

Oh, little girl. You are on my mind constantly these days. Not that you aren't always there, but in this month of your conception, you are at the front. I miss you like nothing else. Partly because I never got to meet you. Mostly because I still blame myself for the loss of your sweet life.

Two weeks from today, you were conceived. I'm sorry I wasn't smart enough to realize you were there. I'm sorry I couldn't keep you alive. I'm sorry, baby. I failed you.

Please know that even through my stupidity, I love you. Your daddy loves you, too. He's never said as much, but he is a good man. And I know he misses you too. I wish I could take all my stupid, selfishness back so that you could meet us and know us. You'd have been the most adored little girl on the planet. And with that, you could have been anything.

I love you, little Grace Anne. I'm sorry I failed you. If I could change things, exchange my life for yours, I would. Without a second thought.

Almost

I lost the baby I never knew I wanted. My heart broke into a million pieces when I heard the words "no heartbeat." I didn't know what to do. I'm still trying to figure it all out. I am so devastated that I never got the chance to be happy about being pregnant and I don't know how to handle all this. See, for a minute I let myself believe that things were finally going in the right direction.

I've been trying to write about this for months now. You know, catharsis and whatnot. But it's the most difficult thing I have ever gone through. Tops a pending divorce by miles and miles. And I am having a supremely difficult time even coping with it all. I just don't know how to put this into words.

More often than not I spend my time wishing I had hemorrhaged and died during the miscarriage. My first thought when I wake is "my baby is dead." That's my last thought before falling asleep. It haunts me every minute of every day and occasionally in my dreams, too.

 In the dream there is a nursery, butter yellow with a hand painted mural of grass and trees and animals out of Africa, painted by her daddy of course. In the room are a bassinet, crib and a rocker. It smells like baby powder and oil. And I can hear her crying. The wails make my breasts ache. I can feel her desperation. "Mommy, come save me." And I look everywhere, but I can not find her. I search and search, but my baby is no where to be found. Panic sets in and my heart rate is through the roof and a thin sheen of sweat covers me head to toe. Where is she? Why can't I find her? What is wrong? I'm failing my baby and there is NOTHING I can do. At that point, I wake. Usually covered in sweat with my heart still pounding so hard it gives me a headache. The fact that I am conscious doesn't do a lot to quell the terror I feel at first. Eventually, the terror fades into guilt which lasts the rest of the day.

I am very good at hiding how badly I feel about this. I know on some level that my acting is a lie, but being the "strong, independent" woman I am, it's really hard for me to ask for or accept help. Add to that the stigma I feel from being depressed and it's no wonder I have a hard time talking about it. I would have been twenty-one weeks this past Saturday. I should be feeling little kicks and complaining about stretch marks. Instead, I spend most days too exhausted and sad to get out of bed. I can fake it when I absolutely have to, but I pay for it. I feel guilty for allowing myself to be happy for that short amount of time.

A few people have said "Well, you can always try again." But the thing is, I don't know that I want to. For one, I am afraid this will happen again. And I am positive I wouldn't survive another miscarriage. For two, I'd feel like I was stepping on the memory of the baby that died. Maybe I just wasn't meant to have a child.

I feel so alone. So overwhelmingly sad. And I am scared to death that it will never get better.

Wheeeeee.....

I have this dream every now and again where I am falling and falling in slow motion. I know that I'm dreaming, but it scares the hell out of me anyway. And I am not lucky like most people who wake up before they hit bottom, no. I fall and fall and hit the ground, bounce even higher and start falling all over again! What the hell is that all about?

I usually have the dream once or twice a year, unless I'm under a lot of stress. Which lately is all I seem to know, so therefore I fall a lot in my dreams. Dammit.

I think it has something to so with my control freak/perfectionist personality. In the dream I have absolutely no control of the falling or the bouncing. And it sucks! Though I will say that I have relaxed a bit as I have gotten older, but I'm still a bit picky :)

So I know the root cause of the dreams, but the question is whether or not I can change that about myself.  Can I make myself let someone else have control over things for a while and allow myself room for error?  Can anyone ever really change the fundamentals of his being?  I mean, who he is deep down inside?  That person that he is when you strip away the bullshit facade that he puts on for polite society, the deep down feral self that scratches his ass and farts first thing in the morning, the real person.

I realize that everyone changes as they get older.  That change occurs with environment and the people one associates with.  That our ideals change as we learn.  But can a leopard really change his spots?  Do people ever really come to the realization that sometimes being hurt by honesty is a much better alternative to being placated by niceties?  Somehow I doubt it.

I know I sound jaded. That I may give the impression that the human race as a whole is such a disappointment.  I can't help it.  I saw a bumper sticker once that said "Mean People Suck."  I think I would edit one word out of  that.  People suck.  At least most of them.

Darker Still

Standing on the precipice
The vast emptiness before
Calm settles over me
Aa wieght lifted from my shoulders
I can forever fall into the dark
Grey fades to black
The great nothing consumes me
I am enveloped
The numbness sspreads
As I descend the depths
I am free
Done
Swallowed
Whole

Dark Again

This darkness is killing me
I feel it eating away at my soul
Leaving a gaping black void in its wake
The great nothing I am
Never am
Never was
Never will be
Piece by piece
I watch tiny bits of me die
Powerless to bring it to an end
Unable to stem the bleeding
I live
An empty husk
A shell

Darkness Falls

I'm tired.  Tired of trying to keep up appearances.  Tired of trying to be everybody's everything.  Tired of trying to be happy.  I'm fucking exhausted.

I just feel like whatever I do will never be enough.  I give and give and give and give and I just feel empty.  Hollow.  Fragile.  Brittle.  And I don't know how to fix it.  And maybe I don't want to fix it.  It seems like an awful lot of work for very little reward.  I think maybe I just don't care anymore.  What's the fucking point?

Someone told me today that I am too sensitive and that I get all worked up over "petty bullshit."  Okay.  Then I am done getting worked up.  I don't even have the energy to be pissed off anymore.  Fuck it.  Who gives a good god damn.  I don't want to do this anymore.  I'm tired.

Seems to me that I spend a good amount of time making sure that everyone has everything they need and then maybe, just maybe if there is anything left for myself at the end of the day and I have an ounce of motivation I might actually take care of myself.  Maybe.  But I'm so tired.

I am ready to quit.  I am so sick of being brow-beaten into everything that I could snap.  But I am too tired to do so.  I think I finally understand why my mother was so blue all the time.  And why she seemed to give in.  Fuck it.  Why bother.

I quit.

You win.

I surrender.

I am going to sleep now.

Old Stuff

For the benefit of others
I put on my mask
A pretty face
A happy smile
I am the picture of contentment
But on the inside
I crumble
Like a child's sandcastle
Built too close to the tide line
Slowly washed away
By the expectations of all
You'd never know
You never ask
You never think to bother