Closer to Far Away

I am now closer to the anniversary of Coraline's birth and death than to the actual date itself.  That is something that keeps cropping up and stabbing me in the gut at random times.

I remember telling Matt I didn't want the days to pass, because it just felt like I was moving further away from her.  It still does.  Every 24 hours and she fades a little, becomes more of a memory than reality, and it kills me inside.

At lunch with a friend when the subject came up.  He said he couldn't imagine going through anything like this, nor what the most difficult aspect might be.  For me, now, its getting other people to acknowledge and accept her as a real person, not "that thing that happened" or " that situation".  Was her stillbirth a traumatic "situation" for me and for Matt?  Of course, but Coraline was not.  She was perfect, and I hate that her birthday is the same as the day she died and that no one else was able to hold her and appreciate how beautiful she was and that I'm stuck in this ruined body with this tormented mind and shattered heart.

I really could give a flying Canadian goose fart about the "royal baby" and the hype surrounding it.  I'm glad whenever I hear of a happy, successful delivery, for any woman regardless of social status, but I don't want it shoved in my face repeatedly.  That just helps drive the nail in, the one that says "I didn't deserve to bring my baby girl home - they all got their healthy babies, but mine couldn't stay."

Sometimes I consider leaving.  Just driving in my car, working under the table - leaving everyone and everything I've ever loved behind, because I can't cope and their support isn't enough to sustain me.  I just want to run, but my problems will still be there wherever I land, I know.  I guess I'm doing the same thing, in a way.  I seek out new jobs, new opportunities, new schools to fill the gap.  Cut my hair to dull the nerves.  Shed weight and wear nice clothes and makeup so even though I feel dead inside, on the outside I can be pretty and non-suspicious and people won't ask why I look like someone died.  Rinse, repeat.

Sometimes the depression hits me full force and I can't breathe.  I've been trying to just let myself feel the emotions, flow with them wherever they take me.  Work through them instead of trying to shove them aside or compartmentalize them - okay, I feel this way right now, there must be a reason so I'm going to go with it.  My feelings aren't wrong, just painful.