Hesitant to post this, because, well, as you'll see, it's damn ugly right now.
I am swamped in sadness and hopelessness, yet again. And for the first time in a long time, it feels different, this sadness, right now.
I don't want to get pregnant again. This feeling overtook me, strongly, today. I am confused by it, seeing as I've been so driven by it up until now. But it hit me, hard, today. I am so sad. I don't want another baby. I am sad and THEREFORE I don't want another baby, and I am sad BECAUSE I don't want another baby. And the two sadnesses and cause and effects dance together and get very muddled and even more sad. Because really, no baby will ever be Otis. And that is beautiful, he is that perfect and that irreplaceable, and it is fucking awful, because nothing will ever mend this fucking gaping wound.
I want Otis. I want my baby, with his beautiful pudgy cheeks and his huge hands and squishy legs and those lips, and his nose, and a head full of the softest hair you could ever imagine...I remember the way his upper lip curled just like his papa's...
Yes, that baby. I want that baby.
Not your baby, you pushing the stroller too closely to me.
Not your baby, who I swear is glaring at me, with this look of "ha ha, my mama got to keep me..."
Not your baby, you who just announced your pregnancy, so don't worry about tiptoeing around me. In fact perhaps your tiptoeing makes me feel worse.
Not your baby, you who seem to think that I really might want to see those photos, everysinglefuckingdayonfacebook. (And yet even though I don't want your baby, I still insist on hiding friends from my newsfeed at an astonishing rate.)
Not even the baby that everyone seems so confident that I will one day have. Nope, don't want that baby either.
I want Otis. He is supposed to be here, dammit. He is supposed to be here.
I am depressed.
I don't feel like fucking doing anything.
I don't fucking care that I'm going to Maui on Friday. I should at least be able to look forward to relaxing, lying in warm sun, swimming with turtles, shouldn't I? But no. I don't fucking care. I'd be just as happy right now if I was traveling to Antarctica. Or Siberia. I picture myself in Maui sitting in a dark room and crying. I can do that here, for fuck's sake. I just don't see how going there is going to make anything feel any different.
I can't imagine life ever feeling different than this. Even though it has, already, felt different. I have had days where I've smiled, laughed, felt hopeful. But today, I can't imagine that those feelings will ever return. I feel like I've now hit the truth of this grief business, that it will never improve and never go away and I will always, always, always have the hugest hole in my heart where Otis should be.
I don't want to procreate. I don't want to love anything, ever again. I don't want to ever put any eggs in any basket and I don't dare dream of a life other than the shitstorm that is this one right now. How could it ever possibly be better, life without him in it. I feel like I am doomed to a life of forever faking it. Forever pretending that half-full is enough. And it never will be.
I miss my boy, so desperately. I can't believe he's not here. This is so fucking wrong. All wrong.