I usually like to sum up how I feel or what my entry is about in a short title. This one represents my brain right now when I try to put how I feel into words.
For the last few days the emotion floating to the top most often is anger. Maybe anger is too light a word. Rage. Blinding, seething, burning rage. I remember in the early days there was this tremendous weight, this pressure to do something violent. It sat on my chest, heavy and hot, like heartburn but stronger. I wanted everyone else to hurt like I did. I wanted everyone to FEEL what I was feeling. These last few days that feeling has been creeping back. Not as strong as before, but definitely there.
I've been trying hard to keep so busy that I don't have time to think. It's been working a little too well. Everyone thinks I'm fine and they don't understand why I am being bitchy when I start to get overwhelmed. My husband actually asked me why I was in such a bad mood after I snapped at him the day before Christmas. I burst into tears and screamed at him that I had just lost my last chance for a baby in the year since Aiden died and that I didn't have my goddamn baby. I couldn't believe he couldn't figure that one out. I still can't. Why the hell would I be in a good mood right now?
My mother and sister haven't said anything but seem to be aware that I have good reason to be depressed right now. My idiot father gave me a very cheery "Merry Christmas!" over the phone the other day. I get that people don't associate the holidays with my baby dying. For the most part I don't mind. But my family should remember. I really don't think that's too much to ask.
We're packing up for our trip to the mountains. It will be just us and the manager. No one else wants to brave the cold. I'm grateful, since the idea was to be far away from any celebrating. The only bright spot is that my Aiden must have heard me and sent me some snow. The town we are going to had 6 inches on the ground and more on the way. I'm not sure I really believe anything answered my prayer, but its comforting to think it was him.
One of the things we packed was our son. I wasn't expecting this to hurt so badly. We should be bundling up a seven month old. Hell, if he was alive we wouldn't even be going on this trip. I had to pack my dead son's ashes instead.
Oh, God. I just want to hold him. I want to watch him sleeping and count his precious toes. I want to listen to his little baby grunts and play with his silky, downy baby hair. I want this pain to stop. I want to stop crying. I want to forget that I've been trying for children for seven years and only have one and a jar of ashes to show for it. (I hope everyone knows I am deeply grateful for my daughter - but it still hurts). Most of all, I want to stop hoping. It just hurts too much. I KNOW what I am missing and what it would take to get there. I just can't change the way things work. Sometimes it feels like it is killing me.
What good am I if I can't get through a day without pain pills? What good am I if I can't get my body to do what it was built to do? What good am I if I can't pull it together enough to love my husband? Or play with my daughter? Or grieve?
I have been drinking a lot (for me) the last few days. I can't say it's helping really, but it is easier to get through the nights. I hope this trip will alleviate some of this depression and not make it worse. The anger may be around for awhile. My sweet baby is gone and sprinkling his ashes on the snow is a really poor substitute.
I'm sorry about the stream of consciousness. I just really needed to get some of this out. Keeping so busy has meant neglecting my writing, the only therapy I have right now. It helps to write, even if it does sound like I'm about to jump off a bridge (I'm not).
I hope these days are easier on you, dear readers. May you find peace and comfort in the days ahead.