still

I wonder if I will ever stop being so sad.

I know that I give an outward appearance of basically having my shit together.  And there is absolutely a trend towards "better" happening.  I wear makeup now.  I put effort into my appearance.  I crack jokes.  I don't talk about Nina-Lou nearly as much as I used to.  I don't cry in public anymore.  I am enrolled in classes which start on Monday.  I took on an internship.  I work out.  I wear new clothes. All of these things are good.

But I still cry most days.  I still think about my daughter all the time.  I still feel complete and utter anguish at the thought that we struggled for so long to carry a pregnancy to term, only to lose the baby in the very end.  I will never, ever be excited about a pregnancy again.  I will forever assume that any pregnancy I carry is doomed.  I am still fucking empty and alone and I hate all of it.

3 months out is a weird place to be.  No one talks about my baby anymore.  I feel like it is easier for people to pretend she didn't exist than to acknowledge her life and death.  I am filled with righteous anger and indignation when I feel her being ignored, yet, most of the time, I say nothing.

And fucking Mother's Day is approaching.  Not looking forward to that one.  I plan to sleep and drink my way through it.

I am still sad.  My baby died and I wake up with that truth every single morning.  I fear that my sadness is overstaying its welcome in the land of the living.  I feel like a constant reminder to my friends of just how shitty things can be.  I am a walking worst case scenario.

It still hurts.  It still feels like a big empty nothing that tears through me and leaves gaping holes in its wake.  It aches and it burns, and the fury I feel at the injustice in all of it is silent and utterly lonesome.  The reality of my life as a bereaved mom is so overwhelmingly sad, and that sadness is so big, that if I let it all in, I fear I may choke and die.

Ultimately, we all grieve alone.

It's fucking hell.