I have no idea what to do with myself.
All of my hopes, my plans, my dreams, my reasons for getting up in the morning, they all centered around Avalon coming. I had so much purpose, from making sure to eat vegetables and drink lots of water for the baby, to daydreaming about the distant future, about holiday traditions we’d celebrate and places we’d travel. My relationships with everyone I knew, especially mother, grandmother, and sisters cycled around my child, too. Even those relationships now feel motionless.
I don’t eat or drink now. I don’t find pleasure in doing anything. The hours drag by, slowly, and I can’t think of one single thing I’d like to do. The thought of going anywhere, seeing anyone, just shoots pain all through me. I have no desire to play music, even in my daughter’s honor. My just-tuned piano sits collecting dust. I don’t care about cleaning the house, or feeding the cats. I hate my body in a way I never have before. I wasn’t someone that had an issue with weight or my appearance. Now I see my reproductive organs as instruments of death, the place between my legs like a tomb. I can’t imagine allowing anyone to touch me there again. I wish I could just float away from this nightmare, like Avalon’s spirit floated away from me.
Most alarmingly, the crying jags have stopped. Sometimes tears come to my eyes, but the pain now feels so deeply entrenched into my bones, it’s just too much energy to bring it all up and out. I feel absolutely frozen now in my grief. Or maybe like a sponge, I’ve finally become saturated. I don’t find any comfort in the baby loss community. Most bloggers are years out in their grief, and the discussions on the boards just go nowhere. We all feel sympathy for one another, but I haven’t found the comfort that others profess.
And yes, I’m getting therapy. I have had to wait for the holidays to be over, however. I know from working in therapy for years that the motivation has to be mine though, and I don’t feel like I have any. I don’t see a future in front of me anymore, just a gaping hole.
Categories: baby loss