Losing Hope

I tell him I want to try and I want to have hope.  But I don’t.  Not anymore.

I can’t live with this.  I can’t live because she died.  I should have died to give her to Matt.  I can’t walk around with this pain.  I can’t even find the words to describe the agony I’m in every second of every day.

He tells me his world would fall apart without me.  I can’t believe it.  I don’t see how – I’ve brought nothing but misery to everyone.  I see it on their faces – I see the pained looks in their eyes.  Just talking to me, just looking at me makes people uncomfortable.  They don’t want anything to do with me anymore.  I’m broken and useless and worthless.  I’m in so much pain I can’t move, so how could I possibly be any use to them?

I have no hope for a future where my daughter is not there.  I don’t want another one, I want her.  I take no pride or joy or hope in anything anymore.  I give up.  I’ve already lost everything – my hopes and dreams and goals, my daughter to her cord, my son to his disappointment, my husband to his worries.  It’s not possible to be put back together from this.

I’m just waiting for the right time, the one day when I finally say screw it and end it all.  I just cause pain, that’s all I do.  Why wouldn’t the world be better without me in it?  Then I wouldn’t hurt anyone anymore, I couldn’t disappoint anyone.  They would have a chance to be happy again.  I will never have that chance, because this oppressive thing inside won’t let me.  I don’t deserve happiness.  Some people are only destined to suffer, and its very apparent that I’m one of them.  And I can’t handle it.

I’ve made all the wrong choices, done everything wrong.  I can’t keep it together anymore.  The foremost thoughts in my head aside from my precious baby girl who was stolen from me are the ways in which I could leave.  How to end it.  How to go with the least amount of mess to clean up afterwards, lest I inconvenience anyone.

I carried her for almost 9 months, and now I have nothing.  Nothing nothing nothing.  No future.  No happiness.  No Coraline.  Everything comes back to her – my last year revolved around preparing for her, planning for her, caring for her.  What do I do now?  Where is my world?

Text messages talking about my pregnancy symptoms.  Emails from that horrible day when I learned she was silent.  All the plans… down the drain.  Her soaps and lotions are still in the bathroom.  Her towels, blankets and clothes were all washed.  Who’s going to wear her ballerina socks, her glittery shoes, or her first inappropriate use of boots?  What do I do with her closet and dresser full of clothes, purchased specifically for her?  Her car seat and stroller might be obsolete by the time we have another – if we have another.  Her swing remains motionless.  All the things handmade for her, useless and unused.

I made Matt sick.  I made him physically ill because of the way I am.  And I can’t change.  I can’t move forward, I can’t move on, I can’t get past this.  I want to quit everything and just lay down and give up.  I know I’m not a good enough person to go to Heaven, so I’ll never see her again anyway.  She’s gone, and I’m empty, and I have nothing left to offer.  I feel like I've already been crushed to pieces and someone keeps stomping me into dust.

I’m really good at faking it, at least.  At least I have that, right?  Always was a good actress.  You’d never know I thought about killing myself all the time, every day.  You’d never know I cry myself to sleep, or that I feel physically ill when I think about what happened.  These people here must think I’m completely uncaring.  I must be the ice queen, because I won’t show them what happened.  But how can I, when they turn and run away?  They’re so uncomfortable, I feel like I should have walked in with buttons or coffee mugs saying “sorry the death of my child made you feel weird”.  Thanks for not commenting on the fact that I’m no longer pregnant and my baby isn’t here – it totally makes it go away and I’ll never think about it again! *sarcasm*

The truth is… I’m not okay.  I’m not “over this”.  I haven’t moved on, and I’ll never be ready to deal with this.  I had to deliver my dead baby girl – I had to labor and deliver my baby who couldn’t stay with us, who’s eyes never opened, who never cried out or knew her mommy and daddy.  I had to hold her while she was cold and lifeless.  I had to pick up her ashes from a funeral home.  I had to let her go in every way.  YOU live with that.  YOU tell ME that it’s “all okay” after going through that.  Yeah, I did those things, but it doesn’t mean I’m “such a strong person”.  Do I really give a shit about being “strong”?  No.  I don’t care how “strong” this is making me or how “resilient” I’m becoming.  I feel broken and shattered and ruined and empty.

I shouldn’t be sitting in this desk right now, wearing these clothes, makeup, typing away so people think I’m working.  I shouldn’t be awake or alive right now.  I shouldn’t be here.  She should.  My world was flipped and I can’t right it.  There’s a million stupid metaphors for how I’m feeling and none of them do my heart justice.  So many words pounding around my head and none of them are accurate or good enough.  And in the middle of that screaming is the terrible silence.

He’s tired of dealing with me.  His answers get shorter along with his patience, he never tells me what he’s feeling, aside from the repeated “its going to be okay”.  Which it’s not.  This will break me.  More than I already am.  This will destroy me, in one way or another.  The only reason I’m trying at all is for him.  And for Parker.  The only things I care about anymore.  And even that is becoming a distant reason to stay.  What is wrong with me when I can’t even stick around for my only living child and the father of my daughter?  What kind of heartless cruel person am I?  I don’t think they see how much things would be better if I wasn’t around.  I’m not kidding when I tell Matt I don’t think I’ll make it 3 weeks to my counseling appointment. 

Yes, I made a counseling appointment.  Now I’m regretting it.  What is someone going to tell me that I haven’t heard already.  I can’t shut up this negative voice in my head.  No matter how much I try to focus on the good, the very tiny bits of light that radiate in this experience, my brain goes back to *useless* *worthless* *guilty* *miserable* *shamed* *empty* *alone*. 

I wish I could use her as my light.  Because she was born silent I will never hear her speak.  The rational side of my brain takes over and tells me there is no heaven, no God to hold her, or comfort me.  The spiritual side of me has always pictured God holding my baby girl in his arms, while laying a hand on my shoulder, weeping with me.  But that’s getting harder to feel as the days drag on.  Every day is another day without her – and it’s not making me stronger.  It’s killing me more.