The Truth
Every time someone asks me how I'm doing I'm tempted to tell them the truth but I don't. I know the truth might scare them away or at best make them feel really awkward. Instead I smile, I laugh, I joke, I put on my happy, normal person face and wait until I get home so I can be alone to fall apart again.
I cry at random inappropriate moments. If nobody sees me than they can't judge me. Being awake has become painful but my sleep is full of terrible nightmares of drowning, driving out of control in a car and crashing; usually into water, and being chased with giant hypodermic needles full of poison, tranquilizing, drugs. I can't rest. I'm exhausted.
Doing things I used to enjoy like eating or having sex just feel so strange, so foreign to me. I feel like if I'm enjoying something it means I am showing disrespect for my deceased child. I am ashamed of how I feel but I can not help it.
I feel like half of myself actually less than half of myself. I wonder how long it will be before I feel like me again? Will I ever feel like me again? I'm not quite sure if I am depressed or just in some sort of state of grief. Maybe both?
I feel like I am walking, talking, and living on autopilot. I feel myself hovering ever so slightly outside of my own body watching myself from above amazed at how I look normal to everyone else but me. I'm stuck somewhere in between wishing none of this ever happened and trying to be thankful for the 5 and 1/2 months I carried my son. I miss him everyday and it doesn't seem to be getting any easier. Every time I get a gas bubble or a muscle spasm in my belly I find myself half thinking maybe I'm still pregnant.
I know that sounds totally crazy. I am all too aware of how delusional I must seem. I'm just desperate. Desperate to feel anything other than hopeless, lost, sad, and physically immobilized by my emotional pain.
I cry at random inappropriate moments. If nobody sees me than they can't judge me. Being awake has become painful but my sleep is full of terrible nightmares of drowning, driving out of control in a car and crashing; usually into water, and being chased with giant hypodermic needles full of poison, tranquilizing, drugs. I can't rest. I'm exhausted.
Doing things I used to enjoy like eating or having sex just feel so strange, so foreign to me. I feel like if I'm enjoying something it means I am showing disrespect for my deceased child. I am ashamed of how I feel but I can not help it.
I feel like half of myself actually less than half of myself. I wonder how long it will be before I feel like me again? Will I ever feel like me again? I'm not quite sure if I am depressed or just in some sort of state of grief. Maybe both?
I feel like I am walking, talking, and living on autopilot. I feel myself hovering ever so slightly outside of my own body watching myself from above amazed at how I look normal to everyone else but me. I'm stuck somewhere in between wishing none of this ever happened and trying to be thankful for the 5 and 1/2 months I carried my son. I miss him everyday and it doesn't seem to be getting any easier. Every time I get a gas bubble or a muscle spasm in my belly I find myself half thinking maybe I'm still pregnant.
I know that sounds totally crazy. I am all too aware of how delusional I must seem. I'm just desperate. Desperate to feel anything other than hopeless, lost, sad, and physically immobilized by my emotional pain.
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