I have absolutely no right to stand up to God and demand another miracle. The years have been unkind to me and I have been even less kind to me. If I become pregnant again will society open their arms once again and welcome me back from the fringes that I’ve come to know so well? If I have a healthy baby, will the world take me back? I hear the word “sick” being whispered at a frequency only I can hear. Another day cloistered in the security of my own head. When was the last time I’ve said a kind word to another suffering person? I’ve become cold and hard even though my heart is still beating and I imagine blood, more blood, every month after month there is blood and my heart never slows. There are a thousand million other worlds, countless other sides and I just can’t break through the walls and I’m stuck. In my sparsely decorated bedroom, and always blood flowing out of me like tears and I wake up every morning and grit my jaw and see nothing ahead of me but destruction. Hellfire, damnation. There has to be someplace in front of me better than this one but my contact lenses stick to my eyes and my vision blurs and every. single. day is a fucking lifetime of emptiness and the slothiness that is born of nothing. I will find a way out, maybe someday. The days will be brighter, I’ll feel mirthful again and laugh at something nice instead of at the expense of others. I will learn again to be kind. But this day…I’ll let myself just fucking lose my shit.

Miracles are slippery and I can’t seem to hang on to them.


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