losing ground

Today was better than yesterday. In a moment of weakness, I allowed myself regular coffee instead of decaf and the taste of it was so pleasing that I remembered why I’m still fighting. I know there are still things around me that I find irresistible and thrilling. When my husband opens his eyes first thing as I lie lonely and watchful at his side before the sun rises. When the cat curls into me as I waste time writing instead of living and I allow myself to indulge and just be in the moment of nothing without the heaviness of guilt. Although I loved Molly, I must admit she haunts me terribly. I don’t cast blame on her memory–those are the most precious memories I have.

My cycles are off and my period is late per ovulation tracking. As much as I long to feel another child growing inside me, I am petrified to be pregnant again. To have another ultrasound with an impassive technician avoiding my gaze like it’s poison. To listen to the phlebotomist prattle on while giving me yet another blood draw. I’ve grown to hate my doctors with the passion of a lunatic and cannot listen to yet another fake-sympathetic voice utter the phrase, “incompatible with life”. I am longing for a bleed to clean me out because I’m more familiar with the emptiness. Deep inside, I know I have set myself on a path to madness but I cannot stand to lose this battle. My therapist told me once that maybe my anger was blocking my ability to conceive and carry. I kind of hate her for that.


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