More bad days.

I wasn't thinking about him. I mean, really. Not sitting around "thinking" about him. I was watching TV. But, I've been feeling "off" all day. My DH is very ill. So ill that he passed out this morning. So ill, that for the first time in the 7 years we've been married...he's calling in sick to work. I feel bad when he is sick. I hate it. And I don't think that's what got the ball rolling on my foul mood today. I'm not sure when it happened. Little by little over the day I just got more and more angry. Violent angry. I wanted to punch someone. Everything the dog did enraged me. Even my daughter grated on my nerves after a few hours. All I wanted to do was cram something into my mouth, all day long. I even craved pizza. I'm not a huge fan of pizza. I even took the muffin to go to 7-Eleven and get a Slurpee. I don't do that. The one other time I did that she grabbed the Slurpee cup from me and it went everywhere. No. I don't ever take her to get a Slurpee with me, but today I felt crazed to have one. Anything to make me feel better. Anything. That's how I've been feeling a lot lately. Constantly, and desperately searching for relief. To feel better. I understand the whole emotional eating thing now. That nice sugar buzz...it can be euphoric at times. It really does "make it all better" if only for a few minutes. But at least it's a few minutes I didn't have before. After dinner I took the muffin to a park. I took this picture of her today. Her happiness at the swings was infectious, even though I contemplated making a scene with some unruly teenage boys. I wanted to drown in her laughter, but I still couldn't manage to shake the rage that was starting to boil inside of me. I don't even know what I was mad at. Later I came home and hauled a bunch of debris to the curb. That took a lot of exertion, which I was hoping would help. It did not. Then I road my bike. Ten minutes, because a few blocks from home I realized I didn't pump my tires up all the way and the back one reminded me how fat my butt is by looking totally flat. Thanks. I needed that. I was just going to spend the evening scrapping. I started a new page for Logan's book. I never quite made it though. My husband talked me into watching TV with him, and I was too burnt to argue, or to think, so I agreed. I even spent 12 hours over the past two days reading Twilight. I finished it. There's a paragraph in their talking about one of the Vampire woman having had a baby die a few days after birth. Sigh. It's everywhere I turn. Even when I am doing my utmost to try to hide from it, to avoid it. More dead babies. Even fictional ones. She threw herself off a cliff. I totally got it. I thought to myself, "hmm... well, it is an overcoming desire to be rid of the pain and memories". I'm not suicidal. But, I have found that I am growing more curious of the idea of being pain free. But other than that small paragraph I was transfixed by this book. I was so drawn in that I didn't think about anything outside of the book while I read and read and read. It was a nice relief. But I wasn't "thinking" about Logan tonight while I watched TV. There were no dead babies or injured children. But, the moment my DH asked me to come to bed...I melted again. I don't know why. I don't know what sets me off, or what it is I am even crying about. I just know that I have an intense sadness that seems to always be hanging out just below the surface. Something is missing. Something is just not right. 3 months 2 days. That's how long I've been drowning in this horror. I seem to be finding more and more bad days. Bad days I can't explain, not even to myself. Three months. I did think it was going to be better by now, I truly did. Not all better, but well on my way. I would have been 37 weeks tomorrow. I barely remember being pregnant anymore. It's like a hazy dream. I hate it. I hate the unpredictability that seems to be taking shape in my path of grief. I hate that I feel like I might actually be embarrassed (and I don't have a clue why) to answer if anyone actually did ask me how I was doing (in reference to my dead baby). Maybe I'm embarrassed because deep down I must think by now I should be moving on. I don't know. No one ever really asks anyway. Well, my dad does, but it's more so because he likes to gawk, to be needed, to be the "go to guy", to be in the know. Not because he actually cares about how I am doing. And trust me, he does not. But no one (outside of my MIL, who has three times, and each time breaks down) has genuinely asked me how I am coping. And not that I want to tell anyone IRL, but I'd still like to know that people haven't forgotten, that they give a crap. That people know that this is a huge event that you don't walk away from severely damaged. I am starting to see why grieving people isolate themselves and push people away. Anymore I just have no desire to talk to or be around anyone who doesn't "get it". I'm weary. I'm tired of trying to fake my way through a conversation. I just don't care anymore. I can not have a serious conversation with anyone in my life, everyone is so dramatic about the pettiest and most insignificant things. Odd how a dead baby can alter what is significant in life. Nothing is anymore. I feel myself withdrawing and I really wish people would go away. I want to be left alone. When I hear people talk about their petty issues all I can think of is a group of teenage girls talking about teenage drama. You know, the kind you laugh about when your in your thirties. My newly pregnant friend, she says to me the other day that she thinks something might be wrong whith her baby because she isn't having all of the horrible pregnancy issues (like sever morning sickness). People, she's 7 weeks along and she tells ME, that she thinks something is wrong with HER baby because she isn't sick enough. Seriously. I wanted to slap her. I don't know if she is trying to relate to me or what, but it's really starting to bum me out. I just want an escape. I want to find a nice salve and cake it on. I am still afraid of my bed. Three months now, and every night I dread going to bed. I'm emotionally exhausted and very impatient with my grief. I want this to be done. I feel like I'm missing part of my life. Part of my daughters life. And I am pissed that this "event" has shadowed my memories with my daughter. I can not imagine ever being able to look back on this year and not see the devastation around us. I feel broken and defeated. Drained and dried up. Useless and pathetic. Weary, and too tired to care.